Numbered Lithograph
by youaremarvelous
Summary: AU Spain x Romano. When Lovino starts attending art school with his brother he finds his most important lesson doesn't come from his professors, but from a culinary student at a sister school: sometimes the flaws hold the beauty.
1. Chapter 1

"Was it really necessary to bring all this stuff?" Lovino ground out beneath the pile of boxes in his arms.

Feliciano shrugged apologetically and opened the door for his brother, quickly running back to his side to help steady the luggage down to the floor. "We've never been away from home so long, I didn't know what to bring!" He laughed sheepishly, carefully unstacking the boxes so he could read the labels on each one.

Lovino assisted his brother, pulling a box cutter out of his back pocket and precisely cutting the tape securing the nearest package. "Still, do you really need all these pictures?" The older Italian griped as he lay picture frame after picture frame onto the younger boy's desk.

"I don't want to forget things," Feliciano pouted, finally locating his sheets and fluffing them out before carefully adjusting them on the thin, bare mattress.

"What's there to forget, I thought the whole point of us coming here was because it was miserable at home." Lovino mumbled, moving on from the picture frames and busying himself with refolding clothes that had gotten wrinkled from the drive.

"What?" Feliciano cooed, laughing lightly when he turned from making his bed to see Lovino sloppily folding his undergarments. His older brother meant well but he really didn't have a touch when it came to domestic things. "I thought we came here because we love art," he whined, kneeling down next to the older boy and playfully swatting his hands away from their abysmal folding job.

Lovino scoffed and folded his arms across his chest, leaning his back against the side of the bed while he looked around the small dorm. It wasn't a big space, but it was free and it allowed him to live away from his guardian, so for that he was grateful. "Maybe that's why you came, I don't care that much about art, I just do it to pass the time," he scowled before straightening back up to continue opening boxes.

Lovino's side of the room came together quickly, unlike his brother he didn't have any objects he was particularly nostalgic over. He preferred things uncluttered and simple, not bothering over extraneous details like dust ruffles or photographs. "We should probably head to the studio, orientation should be starting soon," Lovino sighed, grabbing the corner of his plain brown quilt and tugging it in an effort to remove some of the wrinkles. No matter how hard he tried he never made the bed look quite as nice as his brother.

"But I'm not done," Feliciano whined, he had been fretting over the arrangement of pictures on his desk for the past thirty minutes and was currently standing with his hip cocked to the side as he studied his handiwork.

Lovino sighed and grabbed his brother by his elbow, dragging him to the door. "We can finish tonight, is it really that important?" He growled, growing irritated at his brother's perfectionistic tendencies.

The italians trudged the short walk to the studios. While living in a dorm was neither boys idea of comfortable, both had to admit that the close proximity to their work place was extremely ideal. Lovino felt his body tensing as they neared the entrance of the large building and entered the long brick corridor lined with beautiful pieces of art. The older Italian stared wide-eyed at the paintings, drawings and prints, all marked as student work but seeming to be of a much higher caliber. He had always considered himself a slightly above average artist, even if he didn't come close to his brother's skill level, but seeing the work deemed only good enough to grace the hallway, he felt suddenly incredibly inadequate.

"Isn't it so nice to be surrounded by such beautiful work, Lovi!" Feliciano sighed happily. Lovino glanced at his contented brother and felt a surge of jealousy. How could he feel so totally confident and relaxed?

"Don't call me that, bastard," Lovino quipped back, trying to keep up a semblance of cockiness. The older Italian started to focus on the slap of his feet on the hard linoleum, anything to calm his nerves, "do you remember where they told us the office would be?" Lovino asked as they neared the end of the corridor.

"Ah, maybe it's on the second floor, ve~" Feliciano scratched his head in confusion and Lovino sighed. He should've known his air headed brother hadn't read the student manual. Of course, he hadn't either, but he thought he possessed more common sense than his brother and thus, wouldn't need to read it.

"Well, let's try it I guess," Lovino mumbled, clomping back to where he thought he had seen a stairwell. After what seemed like an hour of roaming around the hallways of the needlessly complicated building, the brothers made their way to the second floor. Lovino was immediately assaulted by the familiar scent of ink and mineral spirits, "this must be where the printmaking studio is," he mused out loud. Feliciano nodded, clearly uninterested as they passed through yet another corridor that ended in a glass wall with desks and computers visible behind it.

"We found it!" Feliciano cheered happily, "aren't you excited, Lovi, we're starting a new chapter of our lives!"

Lovino just rolled his eyes and scoffed, he fixed his face with a scowl to hide the nerves coursing their way through his body. The truth was, when his brother had been offered a scholarship for art school he had panicked. He didn't want to be left alone, especially not with their guardian Roderick. The man was not very good at hiding the fact that he saw the older Italian as little more than a nuisance. So despite the fact that Lovino had little confidence in his skills and doubted if he even wanted to pursue art, he had applied for an assistantship to pay for his own way through school. If he was accepted at least he would be with his brother, he reasoned, and he was already miserable in Austria so if he didn't enjoy art school his situation would be no different. Lovino couldn't help but note when he found he had been admitted that he felt a small surge of happiness. He had quickly squashed it though, if his life had taught him anything it was to be wary of happiness. It was too easily taken away.

Lovino reached a hand out for the door when the brothers finally approached the office, he lifted a fist up to knock, only to let it hang in the air in hesitation. "Ve~ what's wrong brother?" Feliciano smiled lightly, afraid his ill-tempered brother was about to go off on one of his rants.

The older Italian had just opened his mouth to reply, stepping back in surprise when the door suddenly swung open. "Ah, are you two by any chance the Vargases?" A young blonde man asked, leaning his body against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest and a cocky smile plastered on his face.

"Yes, I'm Feliciano Vargas, nice to meet you!" The younger boy chirped immediately, holding his hand out to the stranger. The blonde stared at the boy for a couple seconds, quickly eyeing him up and down before smiling deeply and slipping his right hand other the boys outstretched palm, placing his left hand on top and squeezing tightly before giving one firm shake. "So nice to make your acquaintance, my name is Francis," the older man purred in a sultry French accent.

Lovino stood to the side, watching the exchange with a grimace, he didn't like the way this Francis guy was leering at his brother. He would have to keep an eye out for him. "This is my brother Lovino!" Feliciano grabbed the older boy by his elbow and pulled him forward. The older Italian tensed when the man slipped a hand beneath Lovino's chin, tilting his head up so he was forced to look him in the eye.

"Why the long face, Lovino?" Francis cooed, laughing when the Italian swatted his hand away.

"This building is too fucking confusing, it took my brother and I an hour to find this office. And who are you anyway, bastard?" Lovino demanded angrily, his outburst making Feliciano grab his arm and beg him to calm down.

Francis just laughed at the pair, ignoring the glare Lovino shot him. "This facility is actually 2 buildings, one staircase leads to the top floor, first floor and the basement and the other leads to all 4 floors." Francis explained, pushing himself off the doorframe and motioning for the brothers to follow him into the office. He sat down at a large table situated in the center of the room and nodded at two chairs across from him. "I'm a third year student here, a photography major. I was asked to be your mentor to, you know, show you two around the building and make sure you understand your schedule. Those types of things." He explained as the Italians took their seats.

"Here," he continued, sliding them both a sheet of paper. "Those are your schedules. Feliciano, you're here on full scholarship, right?" Feliciano nodded happily as he glanced over his agenda. "And you're a painting major?" Francis didn't wait for an answer before continuing, "I remember seeing the samples of your work, you're extremely talented, better than some of the more advanced students I'd say." he commented matter-of-factly, making Lovino feel a small twinge of jealousy at the praise his brother was already receiving.

"Grazie!" Feliciano blushed happily, soaking in the compliment. "I'm just so grateful to be accepted into school here."

Francis nodded, "right, well, you'll mostly have free studio time, but even though you're a full ride scholarship you'll still have to meet for a painting class four hours a day, two on Monday and Friday. But for the most part you'll be expected to produce work outside of your instruction periods." Francis turned to Lovino then, "and you-"

"Lovino," Feliciano piped in, continuing to scan over his schedule.

"Ah, right, Lovino," Francis continued, not noticing when the older Italian tensed from having his name forgotten. "What's your major again?"

"Printmaking," Lovino ground out, coming to the end of his already short fuse.

"Oh, that's right, well since you're here on an assistantship you'll be expected to attend your classes as well as assist the professors in helping the other students and keeping the studios tidy. You'll still have free studio time, though, and if you want to continue to have your stay provided for I would suggest you get your workload done." Lovino felt confused, did he look lazy? Why was he being scolded before he had even done anything wrong?

"I know that, bastard," He growled, crumpling his schedule in his fist and stuffing it in his pocket. Francis ignored the ill-natured boy and pushed himself from the table.

"Alright then, Feliciano, Lovino, how about a tour?" He started to make his way to the door, not waiting for an answer. Feliciano jumped from his seat, quickly scuttling after the Frenchman and Lovino trudged slowly behind.

Francis started at the top floor with the painting room, Feliciano marveled over the high ceilings and large sky lights, tall metal easels were scattered across the paint splattered floor and the smell of linseed oil was thick in the air. "It's perfect," the younger Italian gushed, marveling as he pushed around one of the many wheeled cabinets for each students supplies. Francis explained some of the finer details of the room, showing him where to dispose of his chemicals and unused paints and the different ways through which the room could be accessed. "Your professor will go over these things with you, but it's nice to hear them on a one-on-one basis," he cooed seductively, taking the boy by the shoulder to guide him back out of the room.

Francis pointed out how one of the staircases led directly to the first floor while the other gave access to the second, the brothers marveled over the construction. The doors to access the stairs were spaced far apart, but once in the stairwell you could hardly tell they weren't completely interwoven. Both had a glass front and offered an unobstructed view of the courtyard and glass-walled gallery below. "Natural light is very important to us here, for obvious reasons," Francis explained.

"But in the stairwell?" Lovino questioned, starting to sweat slightly from the warm sunlight filtering through the glass wall.

"Free light table," Francis explained easily, waving his hand at the window and the slight dusting of charcoal shapes that could be seen on it.

"How clever," Feliciano gasped, happy he was already learning things on his first day.

Francis nodded knowingly, "yes the students here are very resourceful," he agreed, "shall we?" He waved down at the stairs before gliding down them gracefully. Once back on the second floor Francis brought the boys to the printmaking studio. Lovino couldn't help but show some interest, he wandered between the intaglio and lithographic press, letting his hands gently brisk the cold hard metal of the pressure adjustors and crank arms. This studio, was also outfitted with tall ceilings and wall-length windows Lovino noted as he wandered into the attached dry room, studying the screenprinting set-up and scoping out the darkroom.

"Well?" Feliciano asked nervously, afraid what would happen if the room wasn't up to his brother's liking.

"I-it's nice," Lovino admitted begrudgingly, refusing to look his brother in the eyes.

"I'm so glad!" Feliciano squealed, wrapping the older in an unwanted embrace.

Francis hummed to himself as he watched the Italians fight, "would you two like to see my studio?" He asked, raising an eyebrow and casting a crooked smile.

"Of course!" Feliciano agreed immediately, ignoring his brother's protests. "You said you're a photographer, right?"

"Mmm," Francis said in affirmation, leading the boys down the stairwell into the basement.

"What's on the first floor?" Feliciano asked curiously.

"Ceramics and sculpture," Francis answered, looking excited as he pushed his way through the heavy metal double doors that led into the downstairs. Lovino shuddered inwardly, he had never enjoyed photography, he thought there had to be something wrong with people that enjoyed being in the dark or cast in red light all the time. The ceiling was low and the hallways were dim, the complete lack of windows might have been useful for developing film but it made Lovino feel claustrophobic.

"Advanced students like myself get their own small spaces to keep their pieces," Francis explained as he guided the boys through the hall, "ah, this is where I work." He said once he reached a door with a simple cursive F scribbled on a piece of paper and taped to the surface. Francis had an evil glint in his eye as he pushed the door open, Lovino stood on his tip toes to peer into the dim room and almost screamed in shock when Francis flicked on the overhead, revealing another body in the studio.

"Ah, Antonio! I wasn't expecting you yet!" Francis laughed, feeling startled from his friend's appearance as well.

The tanned man slid from the small table he had been sitting on laughing as he made his way over to the group. "I'm sorry about that," he chuckled, "didn't mean to scare you, Franny, I got off work early today because we were slow and since you tend to always be in here, I thought I'd pay you a visit."

Francis motioned for the brothers to follow him into his studio, "I forgot to tell you I had to give a tour, Toni, but if you still have time I'd love to take some photos when I'm done."

Antonio nodded knowingly, "yeah, I figured, I'm free all night so it's fine with me." He smiled warmly, eyeing the smaller boys trailing behind his blonde friend.

Lovino glanced around the room as the older boys talked, scowling deeply as he peered over the nudes plastered to the walls and placed lovingly on the drying racks. He felt a shiver race up his back as he eyed one print in particular, the person's face was obstructed but the muscular shape of the body and the short wavy hair gave clear indication as to whom the model was.

"Oh, do you like that one, Lovino?" Francis asked, leaning over the boy and whispering in his ear.

The older Italian jumped back, blush creeping across his face, "o-of course not!" He yelled, crossing his arms in front of his chest in indignation. "It's distasteful." He pouted, making Francis laugh merrily as he picked up the print and held it in front of Feliciano.

"What about you, do you like it?" He purred, hovering his chin over the boy's shoulder.

"Ve~ it's really nice!" Feliciano gushed, "he has a nice body," he added easily, making Lovino wince when he saw a light blush cross the Spaniard's features.

"You think so?" The wavy haired boy laughed shyly, studying Feliciano's face a little too long for Lovino's liking.

"Who are you anyway, another student?" Lovino interrupted suddenly, growing irritated with all the flirtatious behavior being directed at his brother.

"Ah, no," Antonio began, scratching his head and laughing as Francis came over and grabbed him by the shoulder.

"This is Antonio," he explained, "he's a Culinary Arts student at our sister school."

"That still doesn't explain why he's here," Lovino deadpanned, frowning and stepping back in disgust when Antonio held out a hand to him.

"Franny is a good friend of mine!" Antonio cried, smiling deeply when he directed his sights to Feliciano and the boy shook his hand kindly. Lovino felt his stomach turn when the Spanish pervert touched his brother. Keeping Feliciano safe from all these bastards was going to be a major chore for him, and it didn't make it any easier that Antonio had such a nice smile. Not that he liked it or anything, he just new his clueless brother was the type to be fooled by that effortless charm.

"Ve~ nice to meet you Antonio, I'm Feliciano," the younger Italian grinned warmly.

Lovino felt his pulse racing, he couldn't let these two make a connection. In the back of his mind he wondered why he cared so much, he had always protected his brother from lecherous potential boyfriends, but never did he remember having such a visceral reaction. Deciding to forgo further contemplation for the moment, he stepped between the two men, staring up sternly into Antonio's bright green eyes. "That still doesn't explain why you're here." He growled, "didn't Francis tell you he had students to mentor today, or are you just so self absorbed that you don't care?"

Antonio threw his arms up in front of his chest in defense, closing his eyes and offering an apologetic smile, "ah its nothing like that, I-I just didn't know," He laughed half heartedly, backing away slowly until he bumped into Francis.

Francis placed a hand on Antonio's shoulder, squeezing gently as he side-stepped the man to stand as a mediator between the two parties. "Antonio models for me on the weekends," he explained to the brothers, "if his presence is really so bothersome I can ask him to go home. Of course that means I'll be behind in my production."

"No, no, don't do that, it's nice to have extra company right, fratello?" Feliciano said kindly, tilting his head on to his brother's shoulder. Lovino flinched at the touch, Feliciano had a bad habit of trying to get his way through cuteness, and the worst part was he almost always gave into it.

"Fine," Lovino muttered, folding his arms in front of his chest and throwing his gaze to the floor.

"Ok, then," Francis chirped, motioning for the group to exit the photography lab, "enough distractions."

The rest of the tour was a blur for Lovino. He found it harder and harder to focus as he watched Antonio cast side-ways glances at his brother. His stomach churned miserably and he supposed he must be coming down with something. He trailed a couple feet behind the rest of the group, watching the way Antonio's well-toned back moved when he walked, and the way his wavy brown hair bounced slightly with each step. Yes, this boy was going to be a chore to take care of.

The older Italian continued to walk, unaware that the trio ahead of him had stopped momentarily to eye a piece of art. Lovino ran right into the Spaniard, squeaking with surprise when the sudden impact made him lose his footing. He braced himself to slam against the cold linoleum floor, only to peak his eyes open after a couple seconds of no impact. "Careful," a kind voice laughed. Lovino jerked his head up and squinted his eyes at the tan hand wrapped around the crook of his arm, then looked at its beaming owner. "Are you ok?" Antonio mouthed. Or maybe he said it, Lovino wasn't sure, all he could hear was his heart pounding in his ears.

"Fratello?" Feliciano knitted his eyebrows in concern, walking up behind his brother and gently pushing up his shoulders so he was standing again. "Are you ok?"

Lovino stared from his brother's worried face to the half smiling Spaniard behind him and shook his head abruptly. "I-I'm fine. Just tired." He said quickly, not realizing how true the words were until they had left his mouth. His whole body felt exhausted, all the effort of unpacking, exploring the art building, and meeting new people had left him drained. It didn't help that the people he met were so tiresome to begin with. "This is going to be a long two years," he mumbled to himself.

"What was that?" Feliciano pressed, growing more and more distressed by his brother's odd behavior. Lovino just shook his head, a warm blush coating his cheeks, he hadn't meant to say those words aloud.

Francis shrugged his shoulders and walked towards the brothers, casually sliding an arm over Feliciano's narrow shoulders. "I'm basically done with the tour anyway and you have your schedules, you two should go rest up. Tomorrow's going to be a busy day." Lovino scowled at the Frenchman's contact with his brother, he was more than ready to be away from these perverts. "Oh, but before you go," Francis added, gracefully reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small rectangular card, "here's my number, in case you need me for anything." He locked eyes with Feliciano, smiling evily, "I mean anything."

The young Italian nodded happily, "ve~ that's so nice!" He said, making Lovino shiver from the boy's naivety.

"We don't need your stupid card," the older Italian snapped, pulling the paper from Feliciano's grip and holding it back to Francis.

"Oh so I guess you know your way around perfectly by now, huh? And you have the layout of the town memorized too, I'm sure," the blonde teased, smirking as he eyed the fuming Italian.

Lovino bowed his head slightly in defeat, "fine," he seethed, "but I'm going to keep it, not him."

Francis shrugged, "either one works for me," he winked as he turned to walk back to Antonio, grabbing the man by the elbow and directing him back to his studio.

The Spaniard stared at the brothers as Francis pushed him lightly towards the stairwell, "ah, hold on a second," he chirped suddenly, breaking free from the blonde's hold and jogging back to the Italians.

"What do you want?" Lovino growled as Antonio dug around his pockets, locating a crumpled piece of paper and flattening it against the wall as he pulled out a pen and scribbled something down.

"Here," he held the scrap out to Feliciano, smiling widely. The younger Italian grinned and cocked his head to the side in wonder, "it's my number," Antonio clarified, "in case you need anything, o-or, want to hang out or something."

Lovino felt the world spinning again as his brother laughed and took the paper happily. The older Italian leaned his back against the wall, concentrating on his breathing as Feliciano cheerfully waved goodbye to Francis and Antonio. "We're so lucky to have met such nice people, right brother?" The younger boy gushed, beaming happily.

Lovino took a deep breath as he felt his pulse calm down and pushed himself from the wall, "nice people?" he asked incredulously. "They're both perverts if you ask me, I think this whole idea was terrible." He scowled, slowly clomping down the hallway to the exit.

"Aw, don't say that fratello," Feliciano whined, quickly hurrying after his brother, "you'll feel better once you're in the studio tomorrow, promise!"

Lovino just shook his head,"it's definitely going to be a long two years," he reiterated, sighing as continued to make his way back to the dorm.


	2. Chapter 2

Lovino sat on his bed, pillows propped against his back and his knees drawn up so he could sketch with his notebook in his lap. He was more tired than he ever remembered being. His first week in school had been intense, his professor had wasted no time in assessing his knowledge level and assigning him to printing sessions with the other students. Aside from that, he was expected to complete 2 new prints a week, a task that was difficult but not unfeasible for a regular student, but with Lovino's already full workload, had become quite taxing.

"You're not just going to sit here and sketch all night are you?" Feliciano whined as he stepped out of the dorm's attached bathroom. "It's Friday, we should have fun!" The younger Italian cheered as he rubbed a towel over his wet locks.

Lovino grimaced at the moist heat coming from the bathroom, and settled his back further into the pillows. The pain from being bent over a press all day had left his shoulders unbearably sore. "I'm too damn tired to go out, plus I have 50 thumbnails to get done by Monday and a new print to make," Lovino glanced up from his work, watching irritated as his brother danced around the room, pulling shirts out of his dresser and holding them in front of his chest before throwing them over his shoulder and choosing a new one. "What are you so excited about, anyway?" He asked sharply, growing irritated at Feliciano's carefree attitude, "dammit, don't you have any work to get done?"

Feliciano shrugged and smiled, "nah, I've finished, I've got a free weekend." He combed his fingers through his hair, sticking his tongue out slightly as he concentrated on avoiding his one errant curl.

"That still doesn't answer my question," Lovino growled, throwing his pencil halfheartedly at his sketchbook and folding his arms over his chest, "you're not planning on going out are you?"

The younger Italian finished messing with his hair and turned to glance at his brother, "Antonio's coming over to watch a movie, remember? I told you about it last night."

Lovino wracked his memory, he vaguely recalled trudging into the dorm a little past midnight and conversing briefly with Feliciano before passing out, still fully clothed and smelling like chemicals. "What did we discuss?" The older brother asked, the details of the previous night's exchange escaping him completely.

"You really don't remember? Ve~ Lovi, you need to get more rest," Feliciano frowned slightly, eyebrows knitting in concern.

"I'm fine," Lovino spat angrily, "not all of us can get our work done so quickly."

Feliciano ignored the comment, if his brother was well enough to be disagreeable then he must be fine. The younger boy turned back to his dresser, searching around for his least wrinkled pair of pants, "well, Antonio invited me to his apartment to watch a movie tonight," he explained as he pulled a pair of khaki slacks from the bottom drawer and shook them out. "But when I told you about it you said I wasn't allowed to go without your supervision."

Lovino watched his brother pull on his pants and try to slap some of the wrinkles from his thighs, "o-oh right," he tried to sound to sound confident, as if his memory of the conversation was returning, but failed miserably.

Feliciano just laughed, studying himself briefly in the mirror before padding over to his brother and sitting down at the foot of his bed. "You really don't remember, do you?" He teased, cocking his head to the side as he laughed lightly.

"Bastard," Lovino mumbled, weakly kicking out a leg in a half-hearted attempt to shoo his brother away. "It's your fault for trying to talk to me when I'm only half awake."

The younger Italian quieted his laughing and stared at his brother, dark smudges of purple lay under each of his half-lidded eyes, standing out in stark contrast to his pale skin. A compassionate look graced the younger Italian's soft features as he leaned forward to rest a hand on his brother's cheek, "you're pushing yourself to hard, Lovi." He whined, pulling his hand back to his chest when he brother swatted it away angrily. "I worry about you."

Lovino scoffed, turning his head to the wall and clenching his mouth into a thin line. "I'm fine bastard, I knew it was going to be hard work. I can handle it." The older Italian hated being fussed over, he supposed his aversion to attention might have been developed as defense mechanism when he realized he tended to play second bill to his brother. Regardless of the reason, he didn't want anyone to think he couldn't handle the work load he had been given. He especially didn't want his brother to think it.

"You know it's ok to ask for help, though, right?" Feliciano pressed. He knew his brother would take on any assignments asked of him without objection, no matter how much he suffered, if it meant proving that he could.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." Lovino shrugged his brother off, growing uncomfortable with the conversation. "You still never explained why that Spanish bastard is coming over." He deliberately changed the course of the conversation, not intending to discuss his tribulations any further with his aloof sibling.

"Oh!" Feliciano chirped, suddenly remembering what he was doing and jumping up from Lovino's bed to start tidying the room. "You said I couldn't go to his apartment without you and that you were too tired to go over with me, so we decided he would come watch a movie with us here instead!" Feliciano said simply, not leaving any room for argument.

Lovino growled in defeat, he had so much work to get done, but he couldn't help but feel a little surge of anticipation when he realized he would soon be seeing that Spaniard idiot again. He wasn't entirely sure why he felt it, but he assumed it had something to do with wanting the opportunity to tell the man off for offering up his phone number to his little brother. When he was certain Feliciano was too busy adjusting the picture frames on his desk to see him do it, Lovino craned his neck to catch a glimpse of himself in the mirror over the door . The face in the mirror frowned at him, his hair was greasy and stuck out in weird clumps around his ears and his pale complexion had turned even more ghostly from exhaustion. 'Since when have I become so vain?' He berated himself between thinking up excuses for taking a shower before Antonio arrived. Lovino patted his hair down roughly and slumped back into his pillows, crossing his arms in protest to his mind's defiant behavior.

After a few minutes of watching his brother adjust every slightly askew detail of the room and trying not to contemplate his own frenzied feelings at the idea of Antonio coming over, Lovino picked up his discarded sketchbook, settling it into his legs and returning to his thumbnails. The older Italian became immediately absorbed in his work, not noticing when a gentle knock sounded at the door and Feliciano happily bounced through the small dorm to answer it. "Ve~ Toni, it's good to see you again!" The younger brother smiled, pulling the door completely open in an invitation for the Spaniard to enter.

"Ah, this brings back memories," Antonio laughed as he stepped into the room, glancing around at the tight quarters.

"You used to live in a dorm, too?" Feliciano chirped, happy to have a more energetic person to converse with than his ill-tempered brother.

"Mm," Antonio nodded lightly, "first years are always made to live in the dorms, to help us build camaraderie as a class they say, although I always swore it was just so we were close enough to do their bidding at the drop of a hat!" The Spaniard laughed, glancing down when he heard a soft "hmph" of agreement sound from the bed closest to the door.

"Hi, Lovino," Antonio laughed, raising his hand to give a small wave, "how are you doing these days."

Lovino peered over his knees, secretly pleased that his presence had finally been acknowledged. "Brother's been really busy," Feliciano jumped in, grabbing Antonio's arm and pushing him down onto the squat loveseat he had pulled in front of the tv.

Antonio glanced over his shoulder at the older Italian as Feliciano fiddled with the television's settings. "Francis told me the students here on assistantships rarely make it through the end, apparently the professors here are real slave drivers." He laughed, throwing the boy a sympathetic smile.

"I can handle it," Lovino grumbled simply, not bothering to look up from his sketching. Antonio watched the boy quietly for a minute, studying the way he bit his lip in concentration as he deftly moved his pencil around the page.

"Ve~ brother will never admit that it's hard," Feliciano frowned slightly as he finished with the tv and turned to look at his brother. "You should take a break and join us, Lovi!" He pleaded, frowning deeper when his brother simply ignored him. Giving up with a sigh, Feliciano dropped into the loveseat next to Antonio, "what kind of movie do you want to watch?" He asked, brightness returning to his face.

Lovino tried to tune the other two out as he diligently worked. He had refused to let them turn the light off, saying that the glow of the television wasn't enough to draw by, but in truth he just wanted to be able to keep a close watch on them. Antonio had picked a zombie movie, and he was sure it was in an attempt to scare his brother and send him crying into his arms. Lovino felt himself grow more and more irritated every time a scary scene made his brother wrap his arms around the Spaniard's shoulders, and he couldn't help but observe the occasional sideways glances Antonio gave to the younger Italian. Lovino's thumbnails were eventually completely forgotten as he stared fixated at the pair in front of him, his heart pounding rapidly in his chest at their every interaction.

"I'm hungry," Feliciano whined when the credits of the movie started to roll.

"Ah, I'm not sure if anything's going to be open at this hour," Antonio stretched his arms behind his back, happy to be able to move after being suffocated by the younger Italian's frightened grip.

"It's ok," Feliciano grinned, "there's a vending machine downstairs, I'll go get us a bag of popcorn." He started to slip on his shoes, grabbing his wallet off his desk and shoving it into his pocket.

"Do you want me to join?" Antonio asked, standing up from his seat to watch the boy bustle around.

"No, it's ok, I'll just be a minute. Pick out another movie while I'm gone," Feliciano instructed, heading over to the door and looking over his shoulder as he exited the dorm, "ve~ but not a scary one, ok?"

"Ok," Antonio laughed as the door slowly closed behind the exiting Italian.

Lovino felt himself tensing, he was alone with that bastard Spaniard, he was going to kill his brother later that night. He glared at his sketchbook, concentrating only on his breathing and the light sound of lead on paper. "What's so important that you couldn't take a break to watch a movie?" A light voice sounded through the room, it's owner leaning his head down to peer over the older Italian's work.

Lovino slapped his sketchbook to his chest, "it's none of your business," he snapped indignantly.

Antonio straightened back up and laughed, "aw, come on Lovi," he started.

"Don't call me that bastard!" Lovino growled, resting his book back on his legs when the Spaniard was no longer trying to look over it.

"But your brother calls you Lovi," Antonio pouted.

"My brother's an idiot," Lovino replied simply, eyes fixed on his drawings.

Antonio sighed and cocked his head at the tense boy. He couldn't understand how one brother could be so light-hearted and friendly while the other was so obstinate and ill-tempered. Without thinking, Antonio lunged forward, plucking the sketchbook away from it's stunned owner and quickly darting across the room to pour over it's contents.

Lovino gasped and stared with wide-eyes at the man now flipping through his sketches. After what seemed like an eternity, his body finally caught up with his coursing mind and he jumped from his bed to run across the room, "give it back you bastard!" He yelled, grabbing the edge of the book and tugging. Antonio easily pulled the document from the Italian's hands, holding it high over his head and well out of the younger boy's reach. The Spaniard ignored the pounding of fists on his chest as he studied the drawings over his head. "These are really good." He said after a few minutes, lowering the sketchbook back down and offering it back to it's owner.

"Yeah, whatever," Lovino spat, ripping the book from Antonio's grasp and holding it tightly to his chest.

"No really, you're extremely talented," he continued earnestly, watching as the Italian reached a hand up to massage his shoulder. "Honestly, I'm-I'm a little surprised."

"What!" Lovino threw his head up to stare the Spaniard in the eyes, wincing at the pain that radiated through his tense back from the sudden movement.

Antonio studied the tense boy's hurt expression for a moment before hesitantly putting a hand on his shoulder and gently turning his body around. Lovino was too stunned to protest the forced movement and let out a soft groan of pain when he felt the older man start to knead the tight muscles beneath his neck. "It's just that, I've heard a lot of people talking about how great Feliciano's art is," Antonio explained, noting the way tremors coursed through the Italian's tight back as his hands deftly loosened the knots around his shoulders. "I haven't heard anyone mention your talent, so I assumed they just let you in out of pity."

Lovino scoffed but didn't make an effort to move from the man's touch, "That would be stupid on their part," he growled. He realized he should be more offended, but he was honestly used to people thinking those sorts of things about him. "Anyway, I don't care about art as much as Feliciano does, I'm just here to protect him."

"Protect him?" Antonio questioned, moving his hands down the tense boy's spine.

"From perverts." Lovino clarified.

Antonio laughed and Lovino felt a slight blush mar his cheeks from the soft breath on his neck. Silence settled in the room for a few seconds before Antonio finally replied, "you do seem to care about art, though, Lovi."

"I said not to call me that, Bastard!" Lovino whipped his head around to stare angrily at the Spaniard, only to drop his sketchbok when a sharp pain jolted through his back. "Dammit," he cursed through clenched teeth, throwing a hand onto the wall to steady himself as the searing pain slowly dulled into a manageable throbbing.

"Careful," Antonio cooed, instinctively raising a hand to pet the Italian's cheek. Lovino swatted the touch away bitterly, grunting as he tried to lower himself to pick the fallen sketchbook.

"Let me," Antonio said, brushing past the Italian's head as he bent over to fetch the lost item. Lovino caught a faint scent of shampoo when the Spaniard's wavy tendrils passed inches before his face. His cheeks inflamed from the close contact and he felt his knees wobble precariously when he glanced down at the bent over man and caught sight of his well toned assets.

"Lovi?" Antonio knit his eyebrows in concern as he held the sketchbook out to the dazed Italian. Lovino's heart was racing in his ears and he could only shake his head slightly before his body started to slump forward. "Hey, hey, it's ok," Antonio consoled, tossing the forgotten book on the nearest desk and easily lifting the light Italian into his arms.

'No, it's not ok, it's not,' Lovino's mind raced, he knew he was tired but this was ridiculous. Why did his body keep betraying him in the presence of this stupid man?

Antonio lowered the boy into his bed, carefully combing his hands through the Italian's bangs before letting his palm settle on his forehead. "You don't have a fever," he said thoughtfully, walking into the bathroom to search for a cup, "you've probably just exhausted yourself."

Lovino concentrated on his breathing, willing his heart to stop its racing pace. When he felt more collected, he pushed himself up, scooting to the edge of the bed and letting his legs rest over the side. "Ah, you should probably lay down," Antonio scolded when he walked back into the room, a glass of water in his hand. "Here," he said, pushing the cup into the boy's grip and sitting on the bed next to him. Lovino took a few sips, trying desperately to ignore the stare he knew the Spaniard was giving him.

"Feeling better?" Antonio asked when Lovino lowered the glass from his lips and sighed. The Italian nodded slightly and set the cup on the nightstand.

"Th-thanks," he ground out, his gratitude muffled by the noise of his brother finally returning from his escapade.

"Sorry I took so long, I got caught up in a conversation w-" Feliciano stopped, frowning slightly at the sight of his brother when he fully entered the room. "Ve~ is everything ok?" He asked hesitantly, tossing the bag of popcorn onto the loveseat and kneeling down in front of his brother.

"I'm fine," Lovino growled, growing irritated from the attention.

"He almost passed out," Antonio interjected, earning an angry glare from the older Italian.

"Brother, I told you you were pushing yourself too much!" Feliciano cried, growing increasingly upset.

"I said I'm fine!" Lovino snapped, "I don't need to be babied."

Antonio gazed curiously at the fuming boy, "you need sleep." He said simply.

Feliciano looked up at the Spaniard and then back to his brother, "he's right, ve~ Lovino you must be exhausted!"

"If I go to sleep will it shut you both up?" Lovino shouted, desperately wanting the topic to be dropped.

"Of course!" Feliciano smiled, pleased with his victory.

Antonio nodded and stood up, "guess I should be going then," he said, stretching his arms over his head and yawning deeply. "I'm beat, anyway."

Feliciano straightened back up and walked over to the door, "thanks for coming over," he smiled, hugging the older man before holding the door open for him.

Antonio grinned, "of course, I'll come any time I'm invited." He leveled a stare at Lovino, "take care, Lovi." The older Italian scowled at the nickname, "don't push yourself too hard," Antonio added, waving as he exited the dorm.

"Are you sure you're ok?" Feliciano asked, turning his attention back to his brother when the door clicked into place.

"Of course, I'm just tired, so turn off that damned overhead." Lovino grumbled, standing up from his bed to throw the quilt back before settling back into his pillows and pulling his covers up to his chin.

Feliciano sighed and complied with his brother's wishes, flicking the light off and casting the room in darkness. Lovino listened to his brother shuffle into his own bed, ticking off the minutes in his head until he heard the younger Italian's light snoring. Lovino relaxed into his mattress and drew a hand up to his head, letting his fingers comb through his greasy hair. He couldn't get that damn Spaniard out of his head, the way his hair bounced slightly when he laughed, the way the skin under his eyes crinkled slightly when he smiled and the tender yet strong timbre of his voice. He hated the man, he was sure. The way he hung over his brother as if he were a prize to be collected was nauseating. Yet, Lovino couldn't help but want to be near him, if just to see his face and hear him speak.

Lovino's heart pounded against his chest and his stomach flipped painfully as realization sunk in. He expected this kind of thing from his brother, but he thought he was above such stupidity. He was falling in love with that damn Spaniard.


	3. Chapter 3

Lovino hunched over the metal screen-coating counter, carefully using a razor to scrape the dried emulsion from it's surface. Ever since his revelation many days ago, the printmaking studio had become spotless. Lovino re-covered the tables with fresh butcher paper, scrubbed every bit of ink from the lithographic press, refilled bottles of mineral spirits and simple green, and cleaned all the grime from the sink, anything to keep him out of his room and away from his brother and Antonio.

The two had become good friends in Lovino's absence. Feliciano had been uneasy about it at first, he wasn't used to being allowed to bond with others without his brother hanging over their every interaction. But eventually after tiptoeing around the older Italian, he realized his brother wasn't going to gripe at him about going out, and he started to loosen up, seeing the Spaniard as he pleased.

It wasn't that Lovino no longer cared, he still wanted to protect his brother, but he couldn't do it in this state. He had to sort himself out first. The older Italian had been systematically destroying all his relationships and feelings for other people for so long that it caught him by surprise that he was still capable of feeling that pounding of the heart and shortness of breath that indicates love. To him, these sensations were a warning, symptoms of a disease that needed to be cured before it was allowed to worsen.

Lovino straightened up and stared over his work, the metal sparkled back at him and made his heart sink. This had been his current distraction, and now he had to find something else to occupy his time. The Italian brushed his bicep over his sweaty forehead and squirted some soap into his hands, enjoying the faint floral scent of the bubbles as he scrubbed a little longer than needed. Finally he decided there was no point in avoiding the inevitable and rinsed the suds from his hands, grabbing a paper towel from the dispenser and taking a quick breath before stepping back and staring at the clock mounted on the wall. 'Almost half past midnight,' his mind registered, 'that's not bad, Feliciano's probably getting ready for bed if he's not in it already.'

Feeling relieved, he tossed the used paper towel in the trash and rolled his sleeves back down. He briefly considered staying in the building a bit longer, if only to sketch out a few thumbnails in the bright studio lights. In the midst of his cleaning frenzy, his artwork had gone neglected. Lovino found that during the course of the day he was too occupied with avoiding his brother and sorting out his feelings to consider conceptualizing a new piece. It was only in the quiet of his dorm at night that the panic at not producing new work set in and he found himself huddling in the closet or the bathroom with a reading light, trying desperately to sketch without waking his brother.

Lovino cracked his neck and reached a hand back to massage his shoulder, 'wherever I sketch, I can't do it without caffeine.' He decided, making his way to the drink machine in the basement, humming lightly as he easily navigated the once confusing hallways. He enjoyed this time of night, when he was usually alone in the building, free to roam around uninterrupted. Lovino shivered slightly as he entered the dim basement floor, no matter how many times he had been through it, he still couldn't get used to the low ceilings and eerie shadows. He walked briskly through the halls, slowing down slightly as he neared Francis' studio and coming to a complete halt when he was a step past it. The first time he had done this he wondered why, the second and third time he still allowed himself the luxury of pretending he didn't know the reason, but he had finally relented, understanding that admitting his compulsions was part of his recovery. He stopped outside Francis' studio because he wanted to be able to hear if Antonio was inside it.

It was stupid really, he didn't know what he'd do if he actually were. He certainly wouldn't knock and try to talk to the boy, if not for the fact that he didn't want to get to know him better, than for the fact that he didn't have near the confidence to do it. It was useless to contemplate those things though, he had decided years ago when his parents were gone and he was left in charge of a brother hardly younger than himself, that he wouldn't partake in the masochistic pastime that was love. Letting love in meant letting pain in, and Lovino had endured enough hurt in his few years to contemplate willingly letting more into his life. 'Better to be lonely by choice than by circumstance,' he always reminded himself, because no one lived forever, and that was painful in and of itself.

Lovino's mind slowly resurfaced from it's churning thoughts and he found his feet moving again, echoing against the plain walls as he stepped across the linoleum, unconsciously making his way to the drink machine. He dug around his pocket, pulling out a crinkled dollar bill and ironing it out over the edge of the machine before feeding it in and selecting a drink. He waited impatiently for the drink to clunk loudly into the dispenser, drawing it out quickly when it fell and slowly opening the lid to let out the excess carbonation. When he was certain the drink wouldn't spew over his hands and the floor, Lovino cracked off the lid, leaning his back against the drink machine as he took a long and satisfying gulp. The carbonation burned his throat and the sweet syrup lay thick on his tongue. His stomach flipped with the sudden stimuli and Lovino realized with a curse that he had forgotten to eat again that day.

'I can't keep on like this,' he admitted to himself sullenly, the barriers of his mind breaking down in the quiet solitary of the dimly lit basement. He grunted as he pushed himself off the drink machine, feet dragging slightly as he navigated back down the halls. In a moment of perceived weakness, he decided to go back to the dorm and go to sleep. His mind couldn't create properly if it was sleep-deprived, he reasoned, and this way he could wake up early and get back to the studio to sketch and prepare for tutoring sessions before anyone else arrived.

Lovino shuffled back to the studio, scooping up his sketchbook and flicking off the light, before heading towards the exit of the large building. The Italian watched his reflection curiously in the glass door, he had been avoiding mirrors lately, aware that the stress his mind and body were facing were probably clearly evidenced in his rapidly thinning body and pale complexion. He hated that about himself, as well as he was able to keep his mind's tribulations locked away from others, his body never failed to express its every whim to any interested public. His face was like a palette, easily painted red, purple, white, or green, depending on his current state. The blushing was the worst, ever since he was a child he had a terrible habit of turning deep red from the slightest provocation.

Lovino neared the door and paused for a moment to brush his fingers through his unruly hair before shaking his head in resignation to his bedraggled appearance and pushing his way outside. He took in a deep breath of dewey, midnight air, enjoying the company of twinkling stars and the occasional chirping bug as he walked the short journey to the dorm. 'People with normal sleeping hours really do miss out on the most beautiful parts of the day,' he thought to himself, taking one last deep breath before ducking into the dormitory, jogging his way up the stairs to his hall. Lovino slowed to an exaggerated pace when he reached his and Feliciano's room. He placed one palm on the door and took the doorknob with the other, applying pressure so the opening hinges would make as little as noise as possible.

Once the door was open just enough to squeeze a body through, Lovino entered the room, focusing on keeping his breathing as shallow as possible as he gently lay his sketchbook on his nightstand and padded to the bathroom. The Italian repeated his procedure, placing a hand on the door and grabbing the door knob with the other, slowly closing the space in the frame until the he eased the lock into place. Satisfied with his silence, Lovino felt around until he found the towel rack, pulling the cottony throw to the floor and pushing it gently with his foot into the space beneath the door. Once he was certain his makeshift stopper was in place, he flicked on the bathroom light. 'I've gotten too good at this,' he thought to himself bitterly as he contemplated if avoiding Feliciano was really worth washing his hair in the sink again.

Lovino pulled his shirt over his head, fiddling with the button on his pants and kicking the fallen slacks off his ankles as he staggered over to the shower. In a moment of rebellion, Lovino reached into the stall to pull on the faucet, only to chicken out at the last second and reach for his shampoo instead. 'You suck, you suck, you suck,' he told himself bitterly, continuing the mantra as he eased the spigot on to a gentle dribble and poured a dollop of flowery smelling shampoo into his palm. Sighing lightly, he thrust his hand under the water, lathering the soap between his palms and lowering his head beneath the stream to massage the suds into his sweaty tendrils. The cold water felt good against his sleep-deprived eyes, but the chill sent an army of goosebumps across his arms and back.

When he was satisfied that all the shampoo had been washed from his hair, Lovino straightened back up, shivering as cold droplets slipped from his sopping brunette strands to his chest and spine. Ignoring his discomfort, he reached for the burgundy washcloth folded neatly behind the faucet and squirted soap into it, holding it under the stream of frigid water until it was foaming. He then ran the soapy cloth across his arms and stomach, reaching awkwardly across his shoulders before applying more soap to the towel and running it across his calves and thighs. Once he was thoroughly soaped up, he rinsed the foam from the rag, leaning over the sink as he awkwardly splashed his limbs with water. He cupped his hands together and filled them under the cold stream, pushing his hips firmly against the sink as he poured the water down his chest. The first day he had attempted this maneuver he had deposited a gigantic puddle onto the floor, but now, on his sixth day of self-induced isolation, he managed to keep the floor dry, save for a few rogue drops.

Once clean, Lovino ran the washcloth over the edge of the sink before folding it up once again and placing it behind the faucet. He plucked his toothbrush out of the holder, squeezing a generous amount of toothpaste over the bristles and leaning against the wall as he brushed. He ignored the shivers that trailed through his naked body, the suffering that had once seemed cathartic was now as commonplace as the cleaning ritual he had just performed. After a few minutes of dazed brushing, he stepped up to the sink and spat, slipping his mouth under the stream and swishing around the water before spitting that out, too, and clunking his toothbrush back into place. He turned the spigot off and leaned cautiously against the bathroom door, sighing quietly when he heard his brother's soft snores resonating from the room. Lovino placed one foot on the towel wedged beneath the crack of the door and leaned his body towards the light switch, pulling the towel back with his foot as soon as he had flicked it off.

The Italian reached down and picked the cotton cloth from the floor, wrapping it around his waist before performing his door opening technique one last time. He stood in the entranceway of the dorm for a minute, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dark room before padding quietly over to his dresser. Once there, he carefully opened the top drawer, drawing out a pair of pajama pants. He folded up the towel and laid it on top of the dresser before slipping on the bottoms and making his way to his bed. After pulling down his quilt, he slid onto his mattress, flinching when a satisfied sigh escaped his lips. He turned to his nightstand before allowing himself to be taken by sleep, setting the alarm to 5am and clicking it on. Satisfied with the completion of his new nightly ritual, he slumped into his pillows, relief flooding his body when his back sunk in relaxation. He tried to stay awake for a while and contemplate some new designs, but exhaustion loomed on the periphery of his brain, clouding his mind and making him delirious. Before he even had the opportunity to fight it, he was lost to a deep, unwavering sleep.

* * *

Lovino cracked his eyes open, the noise of someone moving around had finally stirred him from his heavy slumber. He pushed himself up on his elbows, blinking rapidly in an effort to reduce the sleep-induced blurriness from his vision. His whole body felt stiff, a soreness that indicated he had lay unmoving all night.

"Oh, you're awake," a happy voice chirped, making Lovino snap his head to it's source.

"What time is it?" He asked immediately, panic settling into the pit of his stomach.

"Ah, 8:30," The voice returned, sounding hesitant.

"Fuck," Lovino yelped, scrambling from his bed and forcing himself to stand still for a moment as stars danced across his vision. "Why didn't you wake me up sooner?" He demanded, turning his head to glare at his younger brother.

Feliciano pouted slightly, "you've been working so hard lately, when you slept through your alarm clock I just couldn't wake you up."

"What do you mean you couldn't, it's pretty damn easy!" Lovino shouted, pacing over to his dresser and beginning to pull off his clothes as he continued to berate the younger Italian.

"But, you just look so tired, Lovi," Feliciano whined. "And I never see you anymore."

"What do you want, an apology?" Lovino spat, "I'm so sorry that I'm too busy with my work to go gallivanting around with you and your damn Spanish boyfriend."

"Antonio's not my boyfriend,"

"That's beside the point," Lovino ground out as he pulled a clean shirt over his head.

"Then-"

"The point _is_," Lovino continued, ignoring his brother's interruption, "that I don't have time to just hang out and watch movies and go out to eat." He paused for a moment as he pulled on a fresh pair of underwear and dug around for a clean pair of slacks. "I have enough trouble getting everything done without you sabotaging me!" His frustration reached a boiling point as he finished dressing and turned to regard his wilting younger brother.

Feliciano gaped at the older Italian, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears, "W-what are you talking about?" He pleaded, hating to see his brother's anger directed towards him.

"What do you mean 'what am I talking about?'" Lovino spat back in a mocking tone. "All I ever hear about all day is 'Feliciano's so wonderful,' 'Feliciano's so talented,' 'how can those two boys be related?'"

Feliciano sniffed loudly, wiping the tears streaming down his cheeks with the back of his wrist, "but you know I don't feel that way, Lovi. I would never think those things."

Lovino observed his crying brother, it was true, he did know that Feliciano didn't think himself better. Sometimes Lovino wished he did, it would make it so much easier to blow him off if he were cocky, and then he wouldn't have to care about him so much. Lovino shrugged and shook his head slightly, "how can I believe that when you intentionally let me sleep in? Do you know how behind this puts me? I'm probably going to have to stay up all night just to make up for those few hours."

Feliciano stood silently, head hanging to the ground as Lovino continued to whip through the room, stuffing his feet into his shoes and vigorously brushing his teeth.

"Bye," Feliciano muttered miserably as Lovino scooped up his sketchbook and ran out the door. The older Italian's heart beat painfully against his chest as he walked briskly to the studio, his stomach churned in an unbearable mixture of frustration and guilt. He didn't want to take his stress out on Feliciano, and despite not wanting to admit it, he did know it wasn't his brother's fault he was running late. Yet, it seemed like the younger Italian was always working to make his life harder, as unintentional as it may be.

The morning whizzed by for Lovino, he rushed around at top speed, numbly completing all his tasks while his head continued to churn, completely lost in thought. He had settled into cutting mats for his newest prints when his mind caught up with his body. His shoulders ached miserably and his stomach grumbled from neglect, "dammit," he cursed as he continued to precisely slice through the crisp white mat board, "forgot to eat again." He and his brother were on the school's meal plan but the dining hall was only open for 2 hours each mealtime, and so far, Lovino had been largely unsuccessful at remembering that detail.

"Hey," a friendly voice sounded through the quiet room, making Lovino snap the razor forward out of fright, slicing his forefinger before he could jerk his left hand from it's path.

"Dammit!" He shouted, quickly popping his bleeding finger into his mouth before it could drip on his work.

"Ah! I'm sorry!" the voice sounded, Lovino turned his head to glare at the person that had interrupted his task. His mouth gaped open slightly when Antonio rushed to his side, tossing a paper bag onto the table and grabbing the Italian gently by the elbow, pulling his finger from his mouth to examine it. Antonio turned Lovino's hand over, carefully studying the injury before the Italian ripped it from his grasp, sending a few rogue blood droplets flying onto his formerly clean mats.

"Shit! That's 10 bucks down the drain," Lovino lamented angrily, clutching his hand to his chest and slumping bitterly into a chair situated next to the table.

"Sorry about that," Antonio smiled apologetically, walking to a sink to grab some paper towels, holding them momentarily under water before turning off the faucet and wandering back over to Lovino's side. He pulled up a chair next to the Italian, making Lovino flinch at the noise of the wooden legs scraping over the linoleum floor. Antonio didn't seem to notice as he reached for the boy's hand again, wanting to clean his wound.

"I can handle it," Lovino retorted indignantly, pulling his arm away as if Antonio were trying to hurt him. The Spaniard only shrugged, holding the moist napkins out to the Italian and watching curiously at the way he vigorously wiped off the blood, ignoring the pain his roughness caused. "What are you doing here?" Lovino asked, not bothering to look up from his chore as he spoke.

"Ah, your brother asked me to bring you food," Antonio explained, turning his head and nodding to indicate the previously discarded bag resting on the table.

"That's stupid," Lovino growled, wrapping the paper towel around his finger and applying pressure to squelch the bleeding, "I can take care of myself." A few seconds ticked by before he added, "and why would he ask you to bring it anyway?"

Antonio's smile drooped a bit as he regarded the older Italian that stubbornly refused to meet his gaze. "I-I heard you two had a fight-" he started hesitantly, unsure if he was intruding on personal business.

Lovino just snorted and peeled the paper towel off, examining his wounded digit. "I doubt that's what Feliciano told you," he said matter-of-factly.

Antonio let out a simple "hmm" in reply, letting the two sit in silence for a while before carefully lifting a hand towards Lovino's wrist, pausing to see if the man would jerk his hand away again, before taking his stillness as permission to examine the injury. Antonio took the surprisingly small hand in to his own, pulling it to his face in order to properly study the cut. Lovino willed himself not to blush furiously from the gentle sensation of the man's breath on his fingertips, and he almost drew his hand away before Antonio finally spoke. "I don't think you need stitches, but we should probably put something on it to avoid infection."

Lovino grunted and leaned back in his chair, pulling his hand away from the Spaniard's grip. "How do you know anyway? I thought you were a Culinary student, not a Doctor."

Antonio laughed, "Have you seen the knives we use in the kitchen? Injuries like this are a pretty common occurrence." He explained easily, suddenly rising from his seat to reach across the table and grab the forgotten white bag. "Do you want some?" He asked as he pulled out a large container.

"I'm not hungry," Lovino lied. Actually he was starving, he was so desperate for food that he would even consider eating a potato, he admitted to himself bitterly. But he had already spent too much time with Antonio, and in his current state any exposure was dangerous.

Antonio shrugged and peeled the lid off the container, the scent of sweet spices and tomatoes hit Lovino's nose immediately, making his mouth water and stomach growl miserably. "Are you sure?" Antonio laughed at the noise emanating from the Italian's gut. "I made it myself," the Spaniard cooed enticingly when Lovino shook his head.

"What makes you think that would make me want it any more?" The Italian grumbled, folding his arms over his chest with a cross look.

Antonio chuckled through a mouthful of noodles and pounded his chest with a fist as he swallowed. "You're kinda sensitive, aren't you?" He clucked, glancing down at his watch and jumping suddenly to his feet. "Mierda! I'm gonna be late!" He yelped, quickly jogging out the door and leaving a wide-eyed Lovino in his wake. The Italian sat stunned, he had just started to become acclimated to the silence again when Antonio peeked back in, "bye bye, Lovi, take care of that finger!" He waved, disappearing again as he ran down the hall.

Lovino listened intently to the clapping footfalls until they finally faded into quiet. 'Did he really just call me sensitive?' His mind raced, no one had ever made that observation about him. Obstinate, self-centered, and obtuse, sure, but never sensitive. He wasn't sure how to deal with this new information. Lovino looked from the blood speckles on his previously crisp new mat board to the forgotten container of spaghetti. Shrugging, he leaned forward, pulling the container and fork towards him and wasting no time in devouring the meal. He allowed his mind to wander as he filled his stomach, feeling content for the first time in many days, and trying not to blush as he considered the mouth the fork had previously occupied.


	4. Chapter 4

Lovino stacked his newly cut mats, sighing over the loss of his money one last time before chucking the blood-stained piece into the bin. He was feeling much better now that he had food in his stomach, his head didn't throb as badly and his legs no longer threatened to collapse beneath him. He glanced at the clock as he hoisted up the mat cutter, carefully placing it back under the table before lifting up his stack of mats and heading towards the door. It was late in the afternoon, he realized with a sinking heart. The prospect of having to stay up all night was becoming more probable with every ticking minute, he had always taken longer than he intended to when cutting mats. He was clumsy and sloppy, though he would never admit it, and Antonio's presence hadn't helped matters, even if his food had ultimately sped up his progress.

The Italian wandered up the stairs into the print room, nodding at a few of the working students as he lay his mats on the table and walked over to his flat file, jerking it open with more force than he intended. A few curious heads glanced over as notes and transparencies scattered across the floor. Lovino ducked his head immediately to scoop them up, not wanting to cause undue attention that would encourage someone to actually speak with him. He had enough problems with the few people in his life. At this point, he decided angrily, he was ready to become a hermit. He threw the papers back into his drawer, his mind too jumbled to worry abut trivial things like neatness, and knit his eyebrows when he noticed an unfamiliar folded paper with his name scrawled across the front in forceful script. He reached for it with a trembling hand, nerves immediately pulsing painfully into his palms. He considered opening it right then, to relieve himself the tension, but quickly deciding against it, shoving the note into his pocket and grabbing his mats from the table to toss them uncaringly into his flat file. He willed himself to walk slowly to the door, desperate not to seem too frantic as when entered the hall and checked to make sure it was empty before sprinting to the stairwell.

His normally roaming eyes stared straight forward as he bound down the stairs two at a time, trying to figure out where his feet were taking him. Once he rounded the corner into the basement he understood, and made his way into the bathroom. It was the only single stall in the whole building and thus offered complete seclusion. He shut the door behind him, being mindful not to slam it and bring someone to the door, knocking to see if he was ok. He huffed slightly from the light exertion and briefly considered sitting on the floor when the room tipped beneath him, but decided to lean against the wall instead, still feeling too well to lower himself to the germ laden ground.

With a deep breath Lovino reached into his pocket, drawing out the note and bending over to iron it out on his thigh. Once it was in a more readable state, he took it in both hands, lifting it in front of his face as he scanned the content. "Lovino Vargas," it read, "Please see me in my office. I would like to discuss your unsatisfactory performance. - S." Lovino felt a burning heat travel up his neck, settling into his cheeks and the corners of his eyes. He didn't want to cry, he knew if he did he his shell would be lost for the day, inviting everyone to notice his injury and ask him what was wrong, exacerbating the pain like wind on a cavity.

Lovino dropped the note to the floor, turning to the sink and gripping it with both hands. He stared at himself angrily, soaking in the inflamed cheeks and watery eyes. "Don't do it, you idiot," he warned himself, his knuckles turning white from his grip on the cold porcelain. "Do you want to prove that Spain bastard, right?" His body ignored him, sending a hot tear down his cheek in rebellion. "Dammit," he choked, knowing he wouldn't be able to stop if he let his emotions overtake him. The past few weeks miseries were building up in his chest, hovering precariously in the back of his throat in preparation to loose themselves at the slightest injustice. Lovino bowed his head, forcing himself to take deep breaths and clear his mind until tears stopped wavering in his vision.

"You can do this," he told himself quietly, refusing to raise his head and regard his reflection a second time. He knew if he looked at his flushed cheeks and red eyes, he would be reminded of his distress, and his body would attempt to mutiny once more. "I don't blame him for wanting to speak with me,' he scolded himself bitterly, 'I knew I've been neglecting my prints.' Lovino grimaced, growing weary with himself. The truth was, he knew this criticism was coming. His professor was notorious for being the toughest in the art school, he was a very accomplished artist with an inflamed ego and expected nothing but brilliance and a fast production rate from his students. Lovino had avoided his wrath so far by diligently cleaning the studio and attending his tutoring sessions, but he knew he had been shirking too many critiques, praying his professor would somehow miss the sparse number of Lovino Vargas originals.

Lovino took a shaky breath and squeaked on the faucet, splashing his face with the cool water a few times before reaching for a paper towel and wiping off the condensation. He looked a little more presentable, he decided when he glanced back to the mirror. His cheeks were slowly fading to a light pink, and while his eyelashes were still clumped together, he doubted if anyone would notice. Lovino turned from the sink and bent down to pick up the forgotten note. He stressed over what to do with it for a moment, somehow the idea of taking it back was nauseating, yet he didn't want to leave it behind for some curious passerby to find. After contemplating his dilemma, he crumpled up the paper in a tight ball, tossing it into the toilet and flushing it away with the stagnant water.

Lovino hesitated before leaving, he had to be certain the note wouldn't try to find its way back up the pipes before making the painful trek to his professor's office. After a few minutes with no trace of residue in the porcelain bowel, Lovino felt satisfied that the letter was making its way through the sewer system and clicked back the lock, stiffly opening the door and glancing down both ends of the hallway before exiting. Though his pace was considerably slower, the expedition back to the second floor felt incredibly shorter than the journey down. Lovino felt his heart beating rapidly behind his ears and in his fingertips, he knew any semblance of calm his face had achieved was since been painted over in deep crimson.

He tried to fix his face into a disinterested smirk when he neared the glass-walled office, cursing mentally when he felt his lip tremble. 'Stop being stupid,' he scolded himself again when he reached for the doorknob, rolling his shoulders backwards to release their tension before passing through the threshold and walking to the black and white nameplate labeled "S. Adnan." The air in the office was cold, yet somehow more stifling, he pondered as he lifted a hand and knocked. He would have liked to linger in front of the door for a while and completely compose his thoughts, but he didn't want to appear so pathetic in front of the few people in the lobby. He shot a sideways glance to the individuals sitting around the central table and wondered if they were having as much trouble breathing as he was.

"Come in," a cheerful voice sounded, making the Italian's shoulders rock in surprise. Before giving himself a chance to consider fleeing, Lovino grabbed the knob and forcefully swung the door open. "Ah, Lovino Vargas," his professor nodded when he spied the boy, "please take a seat," he added, gesturing to an empty chair situated across from his desk. Lovino shut the door quietly behind him before making his way to the seat, falling into it when his legs started to wobble precariously beneath him.

"So I guess you received my note, I was thinking it might go unnoticed with the state of your flat file," The older man laughed.

"I don't have any trouble finding things," Lovino piped in, his obstinate side making it impossible not to defend himself.

"No, no, I'd imagine not. I used to be the same way," his professor nodded absentmindedly as he combed a pile of essays he was grading into a stack and placed it to the side of his desk. "Now, about your work-"

"I know I haven't produced enough," Lovino jumped in immediately, not wanting to give the man a chance to say the things he already knew. It was painful enough to have the critique coming from himself, it would be much worse to hear it come from an outside source. "I need to learn how to better balance my time between my assistantship duties and my student ones, give me time, I'm sure I can do it." That was a lie, he wasn't sure at all. These past two weeks had been hell, and for the life of him he couldn't figure out how one was supposed to sleep and eat with his over-packed schedule.

"I certainly hope that's true," the man said, scratching absentmindedly at his bristled chin. "Although that's not really what I wanted to talk to you about." Lovino was taken by surprise by that, this whole time he had worked himself up to be scolded for his poor production, but now that he realized he was wrong his mind whirled in an effort to discover where else he had failed. "It's your art," his professor continued, seemingly oblivious to his rapidly paling student.

"Ah, m-my art?" Lovino squeaked out, feeling his pulse freeze suddenly in his chest. The air seemed to weigh a hundred pounds as he desperately tried to force it into his lungs, but his throat constricted painfully and seemed to reject anything that would dare enter his abused body. "What's wrong with it?" He croaked out after what felt like an hour of silence.

The older man leaned into his chair, folding his arms over his chest, "Lovino, why did you want to come to this school?" He asked simply, staring at the ceiling.

Lovino felt his neck burn as he pondered the answer. 'I didn't want to be left alone in Austria.' 'I need to protect my brother.' 'I had nothing better to do.' None of those would be acceptable, he realized, so he drew in a breath and told his professor what he knew he wanted to hear, "I love art."

The man shot up in his chair, regarding the smaller boy with a critical stare, "do you?" He asked sarcastically.

"Do you think I'd do all this hard work if I didn't?" Lovino spat, anger coursing through his veins at the man's teasing.

"I don't know, Mr. Vargas, I really don't. Perhaps you just have a masochistic streak that needs satisfying?" His professor shrugged, scooting his chair closer to his desk to better examine the Italian's face.

Lovino turned his head to the wall to hide his reddening cheeks, "If you don't think my art's any good just say so!" He couldn't take this tortuous wait, if the man was going to kick him out he wished he'd just do it already instead of jerking him around.

The older man sighed before slumping back once more, "no, it's not that you're not good." He pondered, "you're too clinical. Your technique is good, and you certainly have talent for color and composition, but..." Lovino grit his teeth as he waited for the man to finish his thoughts, he couldn't understand why the arrogant prick had waited to gather his thoughts until his student was in front of him.

"You keep your work at a distance," his professor decided finally, "your concepts are dry and, to be quite honest, cliche." Lovino reeled at the utterance of that word, the kiss of death for any artist. "You can do better, I think, I wouldn't have taken you on as my assistant if I didn't think you were capable of great things."

"Thanks," Lovino mumbled half-heartedly, what good was it for him to hear how great he might be when he was being told at this moment that he was far from it. What had all this effort been for anyway?

"You need to learn how to be introspective," his professor moved a finger to his temple and tapped it, "self-reflection, do you understand what I'm saying?"

"Yes sir, I'll try," He ground out, finally tearing his face from the wall and regarding his teacher with as earnest a face as he could muster. He needed to get out of this office, and if conceding the older man's point would grant him his departure, then he would suck up his pride and do it. The two sat in silence a while, each trying to read the others expression before finally his professor sighed.

"You can go," he said, "but I want to see two new prints by Monday." Lovino nodded and stood from his seat, shocked by how unsteady his legs felt as he exited the room. He was reaching the end of his tether, he realized as the office lobby seemed to spin slightly around him. He needed fresh air, he needed to be alone, he needed to lay down on his bed and cry for a year, but he could have none of those things. It was Friday afternoon, he had two new prints due by Monday and he had nothing planned. And even if he had, he was certain after that conversation he would have sent it down the toilet along with the offending note.

'Why are you letting things get to you?' He berated himself as he walked towards the printmaking studio, trying not to notice the fuzzy black vignette in the corners of his vision. Somehow, since he had arrived at this school, he had forgotten his master plan. Art wasn't supposed to matter so deeply to him, it was a chore to be accomplished so he could continue to receive his funding. If his art looked clinical, that's because it was. It wasn't an outlet for him, he didn't even enjoy it that much, and he certainly wasn't supposed to get upset over critiques. He breathed a sigh of relief when he rounded the corner into the studio and found it blissfully empty. The warm early evening sunlight filtering through the large windows clued him into the reason for the students' early departure. It was Friday after all, any sane human was getting ready for a night of fun.

Lovino slumped into a chair at the back of the room, draping his upper body over the solid wooden table in front of it and blinking sullenly at the poster covered wall. He didn't have time to mull over a design if he was expected to finish two new works by the end of the weekend, and even if he did have the time, he doubted if in his current state he'd be able to create anything of great merit. In a way it was good, he thought as he slid his tired body from the table and slumped over to his flat file. His professor couldn't have been more wrong in implying he wasn't introspective, in fact, his work's dry and analytical nature was a direct result of him being too self-critical. Every move he made, every word he spoke or breath he took was deliberate, a calculated action to garner a calculated response. He didn't want to become attached to anyone or anything and he didn't want anyone to become attached to him. He acted short towards people and so they tried to avoid him, it was what he wanted, what he expected.

It was the unconscious responses that scared him: the way his cheeks turned red of their own accord, the way a light hum would push its way through his throat when his hand was moving a pencil freely around a page, or the way his heart would thump when a certain damn Spaniard was in his presence. These reactions, impulses of his body's most hedonistic desires, terrified him. They indicated that he didn't have the complete control he desired. If he was still capable of feeling happiness, he was still capable of feeling sad, but the two didn't balance out to him. It wasn't worth being hurt just so you could experience being joyful. After all, when he lay awake in his bed at night it wasn't the happy things he recalled. It was his mother's screaming that echoed in his ear, so shrill and unearthly that it seemed it was death itself straining its way through her vocal chords. He pushed some papers around in his drawer,combing his fingers through the disheveled sheets until they brushed against a cold surface. He traced his palm to the edge of the metal plate, hoisting it up when he had grasped the corner and sending the papers laying on top tumbling back into the drawer like a waterfall of looseleaf.

He threw the plate unceremoniously on the table, digging around in his flat file once more until he found a well-worn stick of red compressed chalk and a fresh black, greasy pencil. Pushing the drawer shut, he tossed the drawing tools onto the table before walking across the room to grab a jug of gum arabic and a paintbrush. He paced back to the tables, shoulder slumped in resignation to a tough night ahead as he slammed the heavy jug onto the table and reached behind him to pull a long ruler from the wall. He leaned over the metal plate, quickly tracing a border with the red chalk before pushing the ruler aside and slumping into the chair. He pulled the jug of syrupy looking liquid over, screwing off the plastic cap carefully so no rogue crispy pieces would fall into the container. Once the top was removed he ran his fingers around the edge, pouring a dollop of the thick brown liquid into the cap when he was sure that all the dried debris had been cleaned away.

"Lovi?" A cautious voice sounded when the Italian had just started to paint the borders with the noxious brown liquid. Lovino snapped his head up, thankful that the sudden interruption hadn't caused him to jerk his hand and ruin his work.

"What is it?" Lovino ground out when his brother lingered quietly in the doorway.

"I-I just wanted to check on you, fratello," Feliciano whined, quickly scurrying to the table when his brother had acknowledged his presence.

"I'm fine," Lovino barked, growing tired of those two words.

"Are you sure?" Feliciano leaned his body across the table to get a better look at his brother's face.

'Bastard,' Lovino thought bitterly, the younger Italian knew that his brother's face would reveal whatever his mouth wouldn't say. Lovino lowered his head even more, letting his hair obscure his features. "Yes, I'm sure. Why did you come really? To slow me down? Piss me off? Because you're accomplishing both."

Feliciano sighed slightly and straightened back up, "I wanted to see if you want to get dinner with me." He admitted finally.

"Why, is Antonio too busy or something?" Lovino growled, lips curling slightly in anger

"He is," Feliciano admitted, "but I wanted to get dinner with you anyway. I-I miss you fratello."

Lovino laughed angrily, "I haven't gone anywhere you idiot."

"Hmm" Feliciano replied quietly, sliding in a chair across from his brother and resting his elbow on the table, moving his head into his hand as he pouted at the wall. "No, but you act like you don't want to be around me."

Lovino tensed defensively, this was not happening, he was not being blamed for one more thing. It was his brother's fault for trying to add the Spaniard to their dynamic, in fact, it was his brother's fault for making them go to this damn school in the first place. "How many times do I have to explain that I have a shit-ton of work to get done?"

"But-"

"Maybe I don't want to be around you because every time I am you draw me into your stupid conversations and slow down my work!" Lovino snapped, wanting more than anything to just be left alone, no matter the hurt it caused those around him. "I'm so sorry that everyone loves you and you're not used to rejection," Lovino said sarcastically, "but I have better things to do than deal with you and your shit."

"A-are you saying you don't love me?" Feliciano muttered, staring wide-eyed at his still downward-facing brother. Lovino didn't reply. Of course he loved his brother, but if he said that then Feliciano wouldn't leave. He'd want to hug and make up and suck up all of Lovino's time. The older Italian wasn't ready to get all mushy, his problems wouldn't be resolved by just making up with his brother.

"Look, I just want to get this shit done, find someone else to get dinner with you." Feliciano nodded slightly, he had lived with his brother long enough to know that with Lovino sometimes any answer was a good one. The boy couldn't remember if he had ever heard his brother actually say he loved him, rather he showed it through his actions, and the mere fact that his brother wasn't yelling at him-despite his current stresses-was enough to placate him for the moment.

"Ok," Feliciano sniffed, wiping his tearing eyes on the cuffs of his sleeves as he stood from his seat and wrapped his arms around his waist. He stared at his brother for a moment, opening his mouth to say something before deciding against it and heading toward the door, "bye Lovi," he whispered as he wandered back into the hall, "I love you."

Lovino sighed and let his shoulders slump when the sound of his brother's footfalls dissipated into silence. He didn't want to hurt Feliciano or to make the boy worry. For as many issues as Lovino had, he had always considered his brother the more sensitive of the two, and his older brother instincts made it impossible for him not to want to protect younger Italian. Lovino was ok with being hated, in fact he often preferred it, but Feliciano seemed to be dependent on the love and praise others. That perceived vulnerability frightened Lovino and made him feel as if he had to protect his brother from the fickle nature of people. If Feliciano insisted on acquiring the admiration of others, then Lovino would serve as a contrast to him, being the selfishness to his brother's selflessness, the cruelty to his brother's kindness.

Lovino waved his hand over the drying borders of the large gray metal plate and lifted the pencil, tapping it on the table a few times before shrugging his shoulders and attacking the surface of the sheet. He lost all sense of time and place as his hand moved around deftly, completely consumed by his quickly forming drawing. 'I don't want love anyway,' he told himself as he drew, 'this arrangement probably benefits me more than him.'


	5. Chapter 5

Lovino bent his head over the large metal plate, dragging his pencil heavily along it's slightly grainy surface. His mind couldn't catch up with his hand, his jumbled thoughts seemed to be dumping themselves into the quickly forming sketch, but he was unaware of what the finished product was supposed to be. It was terrifying, he didn't have time to waste on mistakes and the lithograph plates were expensive, but he couldn't make himself care. It seemed as if all his energy, all his fight, was being deposited through his fingers into the tip of that greasy black pencil.

The large studio filled with white florescent lighting as the orange evening sunlight faded into darkness. Lovino didn't notice the onset of night or the sound of the last remaining students trickling down the hall back to their regular lives. All he could see was composition and form, and all he could hear was the muted squeak of his litho pencil brushing against the surface of the plate. Despite his greatest efforts to push it away, Lovino couldn't help but feel excitement creep into his heart as he started to observe recognizable features in the forming drawing. The sketch was grotesque, a two-headed figure splayed awkwardly as if it had collided with an invisible vehicle. One of the heads was angled too far to the side, a deep gash severing it from it's shared body. The Italian held in a breath as he studied the forms, he knew the image was revealing, but even he wasn't aware of what.

Deciding he had neither the desire nor the time to decipher his creation, he pushed himself from the table, stumbling from his chair to grab a bottle of black, thick ink from a shelf behind him and setting it carefully on the table before shuffling through the doorway into the adjoining room to fetch a small container of water. Lovino grabbed a plastic cup from the rack above the sink and squeaked on the faucet, pushing his fingers under the cool stream as he fiddled with the temperature. He knew he was just wasting time, the mounted clock in the adjacent room was blissfully broken and so didn't tempt the Italian with the time. The clock in this room, however, was working, and despite his attempts to tell himself it was best not to know, Lovino could never help but glance at it. When the water had reached a comfortable temperature, Lovino cupped his hands beneath it, splashing the refreshing liquid onto his tired face a few times before thrusting the overused cup under the stream and setting it to the side. He squeaked off the rusty spigot, pulling a paper towel from the dispenser and sighing as he wiped his face. It wouldn't help him to know what time it was, if anything it would just make him more tired and more desperate, but despite his best efforts, he could never fight the temptation.

"Dammit," Lovino growled to himself as he lifted the cup of water from the sink and glanced up at the clock. '11:15,' his mind registered wearily, not as bad as he had thought, he could still finish printing this edition by the morning if he finished the drawing by midnight. Feeling slightly rejuvenated, the Italian scurried back to his table, sliding into the still-warm chair and quickly unscrewing the bottle of toxic smelling black liquid. He lifted the discarded paintbrush from earlier and dipped it hesitantly into the noxious dark mixture, carefully positioning the loaded brush over the cup of water and brushing it into the edge of the water to dilute its thickness. Once the ink had reached a satisfactory level of darkness he attacked the formerly forgotten drawing, swiping his brush from the edge of the injured head's neck to the surrounding blank area in furious strokes. He dipped the paintbrush back into the black liquid, rubbing his thumb over the bristles to decorate the gushing wound with splatters of black.

Once he had finished, Lovino rested the paintbrush against the cap of the ink, sitting back to study his finished work. The image was disturbing, and he couldn't decide if it the grotesqueness would overshadow any message it carried. Deciding he didn't have the time to be critical, he shrugged to himself and picked up the paintbrush, standing from his chair to fetch a paper towel. He padded back to his work, laying the paper towel on the table with the paintbrush on top of it. He decided to put off the task of cleaning the sticky black liquid from the bristles for later as he rubbed his dirtied thumb on the edge of the napkin, screwing the cap back on the pungent ink and scooting it back onto the shelf. He eyed the pooled liquid wearily, it would take a while to dry he realized as he considered resting his eyes for a few minutes until the sketch was ready to be printed.

He rolled his shoulders, sighing as every fiber in his body pleaded with him to rest. Lovino stiffly shifted his weight, obstinately pushing the cries away as he wandered over to the dark windows, grabbing a box fan from the sill and hauling it back to his drawing. He dropped the fan roughly to the table, grunting as he lowered to the ground and snatched the cord, plugging it into the wall before struggling back to his feet. He turned the fan on full blast, shivering as the cold air whirled past him before falling back into his chair, pulling his knees to his chest and resting his chin on them as he stared down at his drying sketch, eyes glazed over in exhaustion.

Lovino felt sleep wavering in the periphery of his vision while he watched the shiny black ink harden into a matte gray. When he was sure that the drawing was sufficiently dry he let his feet drop to the floor, the body heat he had accumulated fleeing instantly as he leaned forward and clicked off the fan. He stared quietly at the litho plate, now that it was ready to be printed, he found he was lacking the energy to do it.

"Ah, Lovi," a voice sounded suddenly, making the Italian snap back in fright.

"I told you I want to be left alone," he growled immediately, lifting his head from his drawing and letting his mouth droop slightly in surprise. "S-sorry, I thought you were Feliciano." He said, anger still decorating the edges of his words.

Antonio laughed half-heartedly, moving from the doorway to sit on a table at the front of the classroom as he watched Lovino lift the metal plate he had been eyeing and place it on top of a press. "What are you doing?" Antonio asked curiously as the boy paced around the room, grabbing up various items and setting them next to his completed sketch.

"I should be asking you that," Lovino shot back. Antonio's presence had afforded him a newfound storage of energy, he considered as he flipped the metal plate over and poured a dollop of gum arabic into the middle, quickly spreading it around with a crusty rag before flipping the plate back over, banging his fists on the corners for good measure.

"W-well, it's just Feliciano-"

Lovino sighed, he was tired of distractions, but even more than that, he was growing weary of being blamed for his brother's unhappy state. Why was it that no one seemed to notice that he was in no condition to be worrying about someone else's mood? Lovino snapped his head towards the Spaniard in reply, fixing an angry look on his face in a dare to continue.

Antonio carried on, completely oblivious to the Italian's threatening behavior, "he just, he's upset because he thinks you're avoiding him."

"That's stupid," Lovino barked immediately, "and it's none of your business."

Antonio sighed in understanding, "I figured you'd say that, I just hate to see little Feli so unhappy, I couldn't help but try to sort out his problems for him."

"He doesn't need you for that," the words flew out of the Italian's mouth before he knew they existed.

"What's that?" Antonio blinked, confused.

"I said-I said that you should leave," Lovino decided finally, this whole day had been terrible and continued to sink further and further into the depths of misery.

"Have you had dinner, Lovi?" Antonio asked suddenly, sounding a little too chipper for the Italian's taste. Was it possible for someone to be so oblivious, or was the man just putting on an act?

"Just go!" Lovino shouted, frustrated. His days of solitude had inhibited his conversational skills, and even if they hadn't, he was starting to feel the heat in the back of his neck that was a tell-tale sign of emotion trying to push its way into his eyes and cheeks. He wasn't sure what had provoked it exactly, just that the day's misfortunes had chosen this inopportune time to register in his brain, and he wasn't about to add breaking down in front of a stupid bastard of a Spaniard to the day's list of grievances.

Antonio nodded silently, picking himself up from the table and walking quickly from the room. Lovino sighed a breath of relief as he stared at the doorway the Spaniard had just exited. He slumped forward, resting his elbows on the press bed as he dug the inside of his wrists into his eyes. He was thankful to be alone, but he couldn't help but feel his heart tug painfully when he realized the older boy hadn't even wished him a good night. It didn't make any sense, he was getting what he wanted and yet he was still was miserable. If he allowed himself to really consider the prior weeks' events, everything about his relationship with Antonio was different. He never recalled avoiding anyone before, in the past when had felt the symptoms of love he had lashed out, actively attacking the source of the feelings with his foul-temper until they regarded him hatefully. He didn't know why Antonio was different, it was almost as if he didn't want the boy to hate him, but that was a thought to terrifying to consider.

Lovino straightened back up, moving his hands behind him and pushing at the small of his back, cracking it with a satisfying pop and dropping his arms back to his sides to slump his shoulders forward in relief. He picked up a container of baby powder, coughing as he sprinkled the vaguely fragrant white powder onto the surface of the drawing and pushed the particles around the plate with a dry paintbrush. When the surface of the sketch was coated in a film of transparent white, he brushed the excess to the edge of the press bed, grabbing a folded paper towel from the glass covered table behind him and holding it to the edge of the press so he could carefully brush the powder into it. Once the residue was removed, he balled his fist around the napkin, dropping the paint brush on the metal bed and padding over to trash can to dispose of the unneeded material.

He paused when he thrust his foot on the pedal of the bin, popping the top open forcefully. His footsteps seemed to be echoing in his ears, and he fretted a moment over whether he had finally exerted himself to the point of insanity, before realizing that the sound was coming from the hall and not his own head. Lovino dropped the wadded paper towel into the trash can, his eyes still locked on the open doorway as his body tensed in anticipation. The campus was outfitted with patrolling officers, but they were largely inattentive and overweight middle-aged men. Lovino doubted if they'd be able to fight off any serious threat. Tremors shook the Italian's body as the clapping sound of feet against linoleum drew closer and closer, he lunged forward, grabbing a pair of scissors from the supply table in front of him and holding them with both hands before his chest. His arms shook noticeably when the footsteps grew to a deafening volume, all his blood rushed to the soles of his feet, making them vibrate in preparation for the command to run.

"I'm back!" Antonio called cheerfully, as he rounded the corner, pausing in the doorway when the Italian shrieked and jumped backwards, dropping a pair of scissors and sending them clattering across the floor.

"Dammit, you bastard, what are you doing back here!" Lovino yelled, gripping his chest as he leaned forward, trying to catch his breath.

"Ah, are you okay?" Antonio knit his eyebrows in the concern as he watched the Italian wobble over to the nearest chair and slump into it, letting his head fall between his knees as he desperately attempted to stop hyperventilating.

Antonio threw the bag he had flung over his shoulder onto the table and crossed the room to the boy, laying a hand on his back and rubbing soothingly, "just breathe," he cooed, laughing a little when the Italian swatted his hand away angrily. "Who did you think I was anyway, a crazy axe murderer?" Antonio chuckled.

Lovino blushed into his knees, it did sound stupid, but his mind was tired and he was gradually losing the ability to control the things it came up with. "More like a rapist," he snapped back, slowly pushing himself back up as his breathing slowed to a more manageable pace.

Antonio grabbed the Italian's elbow when the boy tried to stand up, tilting slightly when stars danced across his vision. "Hey, maybe you should rest for a second," he soothed, "I brought you some leftovers," he nodded over to the satchel on the table," you should take a break and eat something."

Lovino shrugged Antonio's arm away, irritated at the warmth blooming in his cheeks from the man's touch. "I have to etch this plate," he argued, making his way back to the lithographic press and grabbing a glass beaker from its surface, holding it up to the light before placing it back down and unscrewing the caps off two containers of dark brown liquid.

"What if I help you," Antonio offered, following the Italian's path and regarding him from the opposite side of the press. "Then you'll be done in twice the time."

"It doesn't work that way," Lovino mumbled, distracted as he poured even parts of the syrupy mixtures into the beaker and stirred them with a wooden tongue compressor. "The plate has to be etched for 5 minutes or it'll scum when I print it."

Antonio eyed the boy curiously, fascinated by the way his eyes sparkled as his fingers deftly completed tasks as if they were made to do them. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he admitted, laughing when Lovino lowered the beaker he had been holding and stared wide-eyed at the Spaniard. "Is it that surprising?"

Lovino quickly snapped back to reality, throwing his gaze downward as he poured the contents of the beaker onto the corners of the plate and lowered his hands to massage the syrupy mixture into his drawing. "I guess not," he said finally, wincing when the cool liquid stung the forgotten injury on his still unattended finger. "Most people don't know anything about printmaking."

Antonio cocked his head thoughtfully as he watched the boy work, "then how did you get into it?"

Lovino simply shrugged, "shh, I'm trying to count," he scolded. In truth he didn't need to measure the time, he knew what it looked like when a plate was thoroughly etched, but he had already talked too much to the Spaniard. "And why are you still here, anyway?" Lovino demanded, suddenly remembering that he had already kicked the boy out.

"I brought food, remember?" Antonio answered easily.

"Why do you keep doing that?" Lovino snapped, pulling his hands from the plate and grabbing a rag from the table behind him, folding it over and wiping the puddles of liquid from the metal plate.

"Doing what?" Antonio asked lightly, impervious to the Italian's harsh tone.

"Just..." Lovino's heart thumped in his ears as he tried to sort out what to say. He knew what he meant, he wanted to know why the Spaniard was nice to him, why he seemed to care when no one else did, and most of all, why he made it so hard to resist him. "Why do you keep bringing me food." He said finally, deciding to be as straight-foward as possible.

Antonio's face brightened, "oh, well, Feliciano's always talking about how worried he is about you. He said he never sees you at meals, and since I'm cooking all day anyway, I thought I could bring you some food."

Lovino didn't respond as he gathered up the dirtied rag and beaker, ignoring the Spaniard as he padded into the other room and headed towards the sink. 'Of course it's all been for Feliciano's sake,' he scolded himself angrily as he thrust on the faucet, roughly cleaning the sticky liquid from the grimy rag. He should be relieved to hear it, even if he was still worried for his brother's well-being, at least he could take comfort in the fact that the Spaniard didn't share his feelings of impending attraction. He twisted the rag roughly when he bad rubbed all the stains from its surface, hanging it from the rack above the sink before reaching for the beaker and filling it with water. His stomach was knotting in an unrecognizable emotion as he scrubbed the inside of the glass container, he didn't know why he had ever thought Antonio had feelings for him anyway, he was clearly infatuated with Feliciano. The Spaniard really was no different than anyone else, and Lovino wondered why he had ever thought differently.

He finished with the beaker, placing it on the rack next to the rag after turning off the water. He walked slowly back to the adjoining room, feeling suddenly impossibly weary as he dragged his feet through the doorway. Antonio had made his way to an empty table and was busying himself emptying the contents of his satchel onto it. "What are you doing?" Lovino asked angrily, moving sluggishly towards the litho press to eye the drying sketch once more.

"We made a compromise, remember?" Antonio replied, peeling the lids off a few containers and throwing them to the side.

"I don't remember that," Lovino shot back bitterly, carefully sliding a finger over the surface of the metal plate.

Antonio laughed heartily, "we decided that I would help you...um...sketch your plate, and then we would have dinner."

"Etch," Lovino bit back, frustrated, "you etch the plate, and I don't remember you helping me."

Antonio ran around the table and pulled a chair out, waving Lovino forward as he ran to the other side and pulled one out for himself. "I'm sure there's something else I can help you with, but you should probably eat."

Lovino turned from his drying plate and tiredly regarded the Spaniard. His feet moved towards the offered chair of their own accord, his body unable to resist the temptation of rest and a full stomach. "Why are you doing this?" Lovino asked as he settled into his seat, pulling a breadstick from one of the containers and cramming it in his mouth.

"How many times are you going to ask me that?" Antonio laughed, pulling a container of salad toward himself and munching it happily.

"Until you give me an honest answer." Lovino replied around a mouthful of food, frustrated with the way the Spaniard skirted around his question.

"You've been looking so thin-"

"Wrong answer," Lovino interrupted immediately around a mouthful of spicy gazpacho.

Antonio smirked as he silently chewed an olive. "It's just that, Feliciano will never let me in unless-well, unless you approve, Lovi." Antonio relented, pushing the now empty container away and letting his fork clatter into it noisily.

"I'm not going to help you get into my brother's pants." Lovino said flatly, face falling to a scowl as he tapped his finger on the table's hard surface.

"N-no, that's not it!" Antonio gasped, throwing his palms in front of his chest defensively, "I just, I really like him and..."

"You want to date him." Lovino finished for him, voice lowering to a threatening timbre.

"Well, maybe one day," Antonio continued dreamily, oblivious to the Italian's anger, "but mostly, well, he's just so cute, you know? I can't help but want to keep him happy."

Lovino jumped from his seat, pounding his fist on the table as he fought the tears trying to force their way down his burning cheeks. He was getting everything he wanted, Antonio liked his brother and not him, he wasn't even trying to get romantically involved with the boy, at least not at this moment. His whole adult life he had worked to achieve this exact sort of relationship with people, yet now that he had achieved it with Antonio, he wasn't happy. It wasn't supposed to be so easy with the Spaniard, he was supposed to have the same conflicting feelings Lovino was experiencing. He was supposed to somehow be different. Lovino wasn't sure when he had decided that, rather it was just something he felt, a lingering feeling that he had clung to from the moment he first lay eyes on the man. Now he realized it was a machination of his mind, a coping mechanism to deal with the lust he had been experiencing. Antonio didn't love him, and he probably never would.

"He doesn't care about you, you know? I can tell." Lovino ground out, still refusing to lift his gaze to the Spaniard's face.

"Yeah," Antonio sighed, leaning back in his chair as he watched the Italian curiously, "but it's ok, maybe one day he will."

"I'm not going to be your friend just so you can get with my brother, and I don't want you hanging around here anymore, I have enough students hogging my time as it is." Lovino cut in immediately, not wanting to hear anything about love, especially if it concerned his brother.

"I'm not asking for you to teach me, I just like to watch." Antonio argued, "you can't stop me from just doing that, this building's open to the public."

"But the materials aren't," Lovino shot his glare to the Spaniard, tears drying up when he realized the bastard was daring to defy him.

"I won't use the materials," Antonio defended, "not until you let me anyway."

"You're wasting your time," Lovino snarled, wishing he had never spoken to the older man and allowed him the opportunity to back him into a corner. He didn't need the presence of this damn bastard jeopardizing his position at the school or further complicating his life. He liked being alone, he treasured it, and this idiot was threatening to trample the one pleasure he had left.

Antonio only shrugged, pushing himself from the table and gathering up the empty containers, shoving them back into his satchel before slinging the bag over his shoulder. "Don't you have anything better to do with your time?" Lovino shouted after the Spaniard as he headed towards the door.

Antonio turned and shrugged, smiling lightly as he lifted a hand to wave. "Probably." He laughed, before turning back to the hall and quickly disappearing down the dark corridor. Lovino shuddered as he listened to the man's gradually quieting footsteps, the look in his eye just had been frightening, revealing a side of Antonio he had never observed. He appeared almost-possessive? Deranged? Lovino wasn't quite sure, but he had the sinking feeling this cheerful man was going to be the biggest obstacle he had yet to face in his search for complete social isolation.


	6. Chapter 6

Lovino pulled a stack of prints from his flat file, carefully laying them side by side on the tables to be evaluated. He walked around the room with his arms folded over his chest, studying every detail of the quickly created artwork as he decided which print was the most perfect. A shiver wracked his shoulders as he leaned forward to closely study the details of one of his more precise lithographs, the chilly morning air filtering through the slightly cracked studio windows helped to wake his tired mind, but it felt harsh on his fat deprived body. The weekend had been a long one, Antonio's intrusion on Friday night had left him feeling defeated, and in a moment of weakness he had considered giving up and moving back to Austria. It was only when he considered what would happen with Feliciano and Antonio if he left that his dedication was renewed. Lovino's life wasn't about him, it was about keeping Feliciano safe and happy. His parents had told him to watch out for his little brother and he would do it, even if he suffered as a result.

It wasn't just that, Lovino realized as he pulled a pencil from his pocket and scribbled a sloppy "B.A.T" on left bottom corner of the cleanest edition. As much as he avoided interaction with him, Lovino had become dependent on his brother. If he didn't have Feliciano to watch over, to give him a purpose in life, he wasn't sure what he'd be doing, but he was certain it would be worse than slaving away in an art studio. Lovino walked around the tables, leaning down and writing a swift "1/11" when he located the second best lithograph. It was funny really, he considered as he continued to number his prints, glancing occasionally out the window at the blue fall morning. To an onlooker, it would seem as if Feliciano was a burden on his older brother. In reality, the reverse was true. Feliciano would be fine on his own, he loved Lovino and would be sad to be without him, but he was outgoing, he did well with people and didn't carry the same burdens and memories as his brother. If anything, Lovino inhibited his relationships. He let people like Feliciano, even love him, but only from afar. If they ever tried to get too close, he would clamp down on them, and scare them until they had no choice but to back away.

'It's too early to think about this shit,' he told himself wearily as he straightened his hunched back and turned toward the lightening sky. The dim morning sun shone lazily, still not strong enough to penetrate the room, and Lovino was forced to regard his rumpled and gaunt figure in the reflecting window. The Italian sighed and lay his pencil on the table, plodding across the room until his breath fogged the glass. Fall had always been his favorite season, people were too excited, too full of love in the Spring and Summer. Autumn brought in overcast skies and a sombre chill, it made Lovino feel less alien, like the weather was relating to his mood. He closed his tired eyes and pushed his cheek against the window, shivering against the cold surface as he placed his hands next to his face, desperately gripping the glass. Maybe if he stayed like this, completely quiet and still, he could become one with the season.

"Ah, how's it going?" A loud voice sounded, Lovino snapped his eyes open and jumped back from the glass, whirling around to face his intruder.

"P-professor," he sputtered, mentally kicking himself for appearing so flaky in front of his teacher. He had known the man had a tendency to come in early, that was why he had ignored his body's protests and arrived in the studio just as the sun was starting to dilute the dark night. If he was going to be reamed for his newest work, he wanted it to be done as soon as possible and with no one around, the anticipation would have killed him and public humiliation was undoubtedly more than he could handle in his weak mental state.

"You've gone and smudged up the glass, they pay good money to keep those windows clean you know," the older man scolded lazily, taking a sip from a cup of steaming coffee before placing it carefully on the corner of the closest table. Lovino watched, disconcerted as his professor pulled a flat mop from the space between the wall and a drying rack and started sweeping the small wood chips and paper fragments from the floor, completely ignoring the Italian's new work.

"Uh-" Lovino started, anxiety suddenly gripping his heart as his head rushed to the worst possible conclusions. The man must have seen his work when he was pressed against the glass, looking like a stupid kid or a caged animal, and decided it wasn't worth his time. 'Stupid, stupid, stupid,' Lovino beat the mantra against his brain, growing frustrated with his inability to do anything right.

"I'm not going to look at those till you sign them," his professor sounded, not bothering to glance at his student as he whizzed around the room with the mop.

Lovino snapped from his mental berating and stumbled over to the tables, "ah, right, s-sorry," he mumbled, his thoughts gradually coming into focus when he realized his professor was doing a task that was technically his responsibility. "I can do that," he called suddenly to the distracted older man.

The Turk waved a hand over his shoulder, disregarding the boy as he continued to sweep. "No, sign your prints, I like doing this."

Lovino opened his mouth to argue, but decided against it. The man probably felt he was reliving his glory days by straightening the printmaking studio, old people were weird like that: once they became powerful enough to not do menial work, they suddenly desired it. Shrugging lightly, Lovino picked up his forgotten pencil from the table and hunched over lithographs, quickly making his way down the line of prints and decorating them with a simple cursive "L. Vargas."

"I'm done," he called when he had drawn the last "s," lifting his head up to locate his professor.

"Good," the man sounded behind the Italian, placing a large hand on the boy's bony shoulder and making him jump slightly in surprise. Lovino's cheeks flushed in embarrassment, but the Turk ignored him, lightly pushing Lovino out of the way as he leaned over the newly-finished lithographs. The minutes seemed to tick by in slow-motion as the Italian watched his professor inspect his prints, the older man's nose barely hovering above the surface of the thick, cotton paper as he poured over every detail.

"Better." The Turk said after what seemed an hour, but in reality had only been a few short minutes. Lovino just stared wide-eyed at his professor, relief flooding through his limbs as his mind registered what the older man had said. "These actually say something," his professor continued, waving a hand over the lithographs in emphasis. "You're definitely getting there," the man continued, thoughtfully scratching his bristled chin. "Now you just need to find a balance between being technical and being bat shit crazy."

"Ah, bat shi-wh-what?" Lovino demanded, anger creeping into his voice as his lips dipped into a scowl. "I thought you wanted me to let loose, and now you're telling me to be more technical?" He bit back, starting to stack his prints in frustration.

His professor shrugged, watching the Italian with an amused expression as he cocked a hip onto the table and leaned over to pick up his coffee. "Your prints are good, Mr. Vargas, but if you learned how to harness your emotions and printing prowess together, they could be great."

"If you think my work is shit just tell me," Lovino retorted, biting the inside of his cheek to keep himself from saying more.

The older man snorted into his coffee, coughing a bit before he broke into a deep laugh. "If I thought you sucked you would know." He lowered the cup from his mouth, "and don't talk to me that way, I'm your authority," he warned, face completely serious as he stared down the small Italian.

Lovino nodded slightly, refusing to make eye contact as his neck burned with humiliation. He wasn't used to being reprimanded for the way he spoke, Roderick had always ignored the boy, and everyone else seemed not to care enough to correct him. He realized that his professor was probably the first to actually expect anything other than failure out of him, and the pressure was unbearable. The two remained in an uncomfortable silence as Lovino tried to figure out how he could make the man hate him while still sustaining his position as his assistant. After a while, the older man sighed and moved his body off the table, stretching as he headed to the door to go back to his office.

"Hey, Vargas," he turned to regard the boy before he made his way down the hallway.

"Hm?" Lovino replied simply, not lifting his head from the floor as he distractedly tried to sort out his dilemma.

"I've got an exhibition at a place in town in a couple of weeks, I know it's not technically part of your duties, but I could really use some help setting up the show."

Lovino glanced up, a sour look planted on his face, "don't they have people there to do that?"

The Turk simply shrugged and leaned against the door frame, "I don't trust those idiots with my work. If you don't want to it's fine, but don't blame me if in my stress I up your tutoring sessions."

Lovino's mouth hung open in shock as he stared wide-eyed at the older man, "i-is that a threat?" He demanded angrily, folding his arms in front of his chest.

His professor laughed and turned his head to grin at the student, "there'll be food, wine, pretty girls-" Lovino paled and shook his head slightly. "Boys then, whatever you're into-"

"I'm not...I-I didn't say I'd go!" the Italian spat, feeling flustered.

"Sure, sure," his professor placated lazily, pushing himself off the doorframe. He waved a hand over his shoulder, "Thursday after next, see you then!" He shouted with finality as he plodded down the corridor.

Lovino stared dumbfounded at the empty doorway, wondering when it had become so easy to defy him. First that idiot Spaniard had disregarded his orders to stay away from the printmaking studio, and now his manipulative professor was making him give up an evening of work to help him hang an exhibition. 'It must be the lack of sleep,' he thought to himself, pressing his warm palms into his face and taking a deep breath before rubbing his tired eyes. He let his arms fall to his sides and stared around tiredly, he had surpassed one of the day's anxieties, now he just had to be sure he finished working before Antonio had the chance to catch him in the studio. He wasn't sure if the Spaniard had been serious, if he genuinely intended to haunt Lovino's work space until he granted him permission to date his brother, but he wasn't planning on finding out.

Lovino let his head fall to the side, rolling his shoulder backwards and sighing slightly at the releasing tension before moving towards his flat file and jerking it open. His arm ached uncomfortably from the effort and he pondered if the whirlwind printing sessions that weekend had actually constituted a work-out, before slumping back over to the table and lifting the heavy stack of lithographs. He mentally ticked through the day's schedule as he carefully placed the prints into his drawer, covering them with a thin piece of newsprint before carefully sliding the file shut. He had a class at nine and a tutoring session at two, if he skipped lunch he'd have a good two hours of work time before the student showed up for assistance. Lovino glanced at the clock on the wall, before cursing at his stupidity and shuffling into the adjoining room. "6:30," he sighed to himself, his tired eyes finding it difficult to tear away from the ticking black minute hand. Figuring that the tutoring would last three hours, he'd have a total work time of five and a half hours. He didn't dare stay later than six, part of him was worried even five was pushing it, but he didn't take Antonio to be the prompt type.

'Why do people find it necessary to make my life as difficult as possible,' he moped when he finally ripped his vision from the clock's foreboding white face and trudged back to the other room. The day passed quickly for the Italian. He tried to keep himself constantly moving, afraid that the moment he stopped, his momentum would loosen and he would collapse. He found his mind betraying him as his body whirled around, frantic to exit the studio by the predetermined time. He couldn't help but wonder if Antonio would actually show up, it was pulling at the back of his mind, inhibiting his focus and disrupting his progress. It was stupid to consider it, he realized, if not for the fact that he was trying to avoid the boy, than for the fact that Antonio wasn't coming to see him. He was coming for Feliciano. Lovino knew he had avoidance issues, he wouldn't keep himself so isolated if he didn't, but it troubled him that he couldn't bring his mind to fully accept the idea that the Spaniard felt no affection for him. He was constantly reminding himself why it would be so troublesome if he did, it had become a dry mantra, endlessly repeating itself in the crevices of his thoughts, but it made no difference. Lovino's heart still thumped in anxiety when he thought of the boy actually showing up to his studio.

'Stop it,' he told his wandering mind, gathering his things from the table and stuffing them in his satchel. Lovino cocked his head to the window when he had thrown his bag over his shoulder, enjoying the way the golden evening sunlight soaked the studio in a rich orange hue. "I did it," he sighed to himself, ignoring the twinge of disappointment that pulsed through his chest as he lumbered into the hall and towards his dorm. Lovino let a slight grin tease his lips when he pushed through the glass doors into the crisp autumn weather. The season had only just changed, yet the Italian could feel a change in the air, an inherent moodiness that made even the red and gold capped trees drop their foliage in mourning to the ground below. The normally packed sidewalks were bare, friends and lovers fleeing indoors to avoid the chilling air. Lovino allowed himself the luxury of feeling content as he plodded to his room, struggling to lift his feet from the ground. He had finished his work for the day and had successfully avoided Antonio, with any luck his brother would be at dinner when he arrived to the dorm, which meant Lovino could go to sleep with no interruptions. Knowing Feliciano, he wouldn't dare wake his brother from his much needed rest, even if it meant speaking with him for the first time in days. Lovino made his way into the residential building, glancing over his shoulder at the golden autumn weather before leaning heavily on the handrail and pulling himself up the stairs.

Lovino let his forehead thump against the door of his room as his hand groped for the handle, now that he was so close to his bed he was finding it impossible to remain upright. He flinched slightly when his palm finally wrapped around the cold metal knob, he pushed the door open with the weight of his limp upper body, stumbling for the bed while reminding himself to yell at Feliciano later for leaving the door unlocked. The Italian lay prone on his bed, willing himself to get up and change his clothes, or at least take off his shoes, but failing to find the energy to do it. After a few silent minutes he sighed and rolled himself over, wedging his shoes into the edge of the mattress and pulling until the loafers fell to the floor with a thud. Now that sleep was possible, he was finding it hard to succumb to it. It was as if his body had forgotten how to wind itself down.

Lovino tried not to concentrate on his inability to sleep, he knew if he let himself get frustrated it would never come. Instead he stared wistfully out the window, enjoying the sensation of doing nothing while he watched the setting sun flood through the glass and cover his body in a blanket of warm light. The Italian felt the air churn around him as his eyelids grew heavy, the buzz of the air conditioning was aggravating, it pitched higher and higher until it rang like a scream in his ears. "Stupid Feliciano, probably has it set too low," he mumbled to himself, gathering all his strength and pushing his heavy body from the bed. His limbs felt like lead as he attempted to pad across the room, it was as if he was treading water, the energy exerted didn't match the tiny steps his body was making.

Lovino hunched over the air unit, leaning his body against the window sill as he pulled the metal lid back from the knobs and studied their settings. '73, there shouldn't be anything wrong with that,' he grimaced when he considered having to call a maintenance worker. All he wanted to do was sleep, was that too much to ask? Aggravated, Lovino thumped his fist on the machine, jumping in surprise when it clicked on and started silently permeating the room with a cool breeze. Knitting his eyebrows in confusion, Lovino leaned his ear to the air conditioning, then the tv and the microwave, desperate to find the source of the unending high-pitched scream.

Once the room had been thoroughly checked, Lovino moved back to the window, fiddling with the locks until he was able to pull up the stiff frame. The Italian winced as the once annoying noise grew louder, no longer muffled by glass. He pushed his head into the window screen, desperately trying to spot the source of the incessant siren. He watched in shock as people strolled casually down the sidewalk, seemingly impervious to the shrill noise. "What's going on?" He mumbled to himself, fear intermingling with anger as he pushed furiously at the mesh screen, finally ripping a hole in the middle. He thrust his head into the cold, autumn air, whirling his vision around to locate the originator of the noise.

"Stop it." He growled when he couldn't spot the source, "STOP IT!" He yelled again, pushing his arms through the mesh, further ripping the surface as he slammed his sweating palms against his ears. In a last ditch effort, he tossed his sight to the roof, his heart freezing when he spotted a pair of toes curled around the edge. "Wh-what are you doing up there? Stop it with that damn noise!" He barked, gritting his teeth when he didn't receive an immediate response. "Hey you! Are you listening?"

Lovino felt his gut wrench painfully when a face appeared over the edge, the kind portrait smiling pleasantly as she glanced around for the person interrupting her piercing cries. "M-mom?" The Italian stuttered disbelieving, his legs suddenly turning to jelly as his knees threatened to give out beneath his weight. The ghostly face blinked knowingly, recognition lighting its eyes as it reached a hand to the boy below. Lovino's heart stopped when he saw a foot shift from the edge of the roof and swing forward, trying to step into the air in what the Italian could only guess was an attempt to come down and see him. "D-don't do that!" He called, trying frantically to get his body to move, but finding it paralyzed.

He opened his mouth in a silent scream as the body pitched forward, twisting awkwardly through the air before meeting the ground with a sickening thunk. The final smack echoed in Lovino's mind, he lost all sense of place and time as he willed his brain to escape the noise. "Stop," he croaked, wanting to claw at his ears but lacking the control of his limbs to do it. "STOP!"

"What was that?" A voice sounded suddenly. Lovino snapped his eyes opened, feeling confused as he tried to remember when he had closed them. He pushed himself up on his elbows, 'when did I lay down?' He pondered as his eyes adjusted to the dark room. The once golden window shone in a lazy pale blue, 'it was only a dream,' he realized, sighing as he sank back into his pillows. Lovino jumped when a series of short knocks sounded at his door, he stumbled from his bed immediately, too disoriented from his dream and lack of sleep to consider the consequences.

"Hey Lovi!" A friendly voice rang when the Italian pulled the door open, leaning heavily against the frame when his eyes swam with dizziness.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Lovino ground out, he thought leaving the studio meant not having to deal with Antonio, never had he imagined that the boy would actually track him down in his dorm.

"I was looking for Feliciano, actually, but I guess he's not here?" Antonio craned his neck as he looked past the older Italian into the dark room.

Lovino pushed himself from the door frame to block the Spaniard's view, grimacing slightly when his stomach churned in protest. "He's not, so you can go."

Antonio sighed, looking down at the angry Italian and knitting his eyebrows at the pale, shaking boy. "Are you okay?" He asked, cocking his head to the side as he studied the boy's slightly quivering lip.

"Fine." Lovino growled through clenched teeth, he felt sweat forming on his brow as his gut flipped in a warning of impending mutiny. He gulped a few times, trying to calm his stomach with the cool air. He didn't want to be sick in front of that damn Spaniard, he had already revealed too much weakness to the man, but the memory of his mother's ghostly body falling through the air refused to exit his brain. It had been so long since he had dreamed about her, he wasn't prepared for it, physically or mentally, and he lacked the strength to push away the stagnant emotions it dredged up. Gagging, Lovino threw his hand to his mouth, throwing Antonio a wide-eyed stare before darting towards the bathroom. Dry heaves wracked painfully through his throat when he leaned over the toilet, he didn't remember the last time he had eaten, and his frustration only increased when he felt Antonio rub his back soothingly.

"Stop," he croaked out, angrily swatting the hand away as he sucked in air, willing his stomach to cease its useless activity.

"C-can I do something?" Antonio asked hesitantly when the Italian finally stopped his frantic retching. Lovino's cheeks heated when he realized the Spaniard was hovering above the back of his head, ready to intervene the moment he was needed. 'You can stop being so nice,' Lovino wanted to say, biting his lip when tears tried to push their way into his eyes. "You can go." He said instead, refusing to give in to his body's hedonistic need to be comforted.

"Do you want me to get Feliciano?" Antonio asked, his voice soft and sympathetic.

"No, just leave." Lovino clenched his eyes shut. He wanted to claw away his eyes, his ears, his nose, anything that reminded him of what a disgusting person he was. He wanted to be alone, so even if he couldn't leave himself, he could pretend that he had.

Antonio slumped back into the cold bathroom wall, "did you have a bad dream?" He teased lightly, not noticing the way the Italian's shoulders stiffened from his observation.

'How can someone be so fucking oblivious, yet so perceptive,' Lovino thought to himself dryly as he wiped his mouth on the inside of his wrist. "Leave, I said." He reiterated, choosing to ignore the question.

Antonio stayed silent for a while, "You know I can't, Feliciano would kill me." He said finally.

Lovino bit the inside of his lip, he didn't want to deal with this right now. "He won't know, I'll be asleep by the time he gets back."

Antonio sighed and leaned forward to softly grip the Italian's shoulder, "leave." Lovino said again, shrugging off the Spaniard's grasp.

Antonio let his hand hover in the air over the boy's back before finally letting it drop to his side and shuffling to his feet. "Are you sure?" He asked hesitantly as he clamored to the sink and squeaked on the faucet.

"Leave." Lovino replied, his body clinging to the word as if it were the only thing keeping him afloat. He gasped and snapped his eyes open when a cold glass was pressed against his inflamed cheek.

"Here, drink." Antonio said simply, easing the cup into the Italian's shaking fingers.

"Leave." Lovino said again, taking a small sip of water to placate the Spaniard.

Antonio nodded knowingly and started to head to the door, "take care of yourself," he said softly as he hovered in the bathroom doorway. "Hey Lovi," He called louder, turning his head over his shoulder to regard the hunched boy.

"What?" Lovino growled, wishing he would stop lingering.

"See you tomorrow." The Spaniard grinned pleasantly, continuing his trek to the door as shivers raced up the Italian's back.

"Fuck you," Lovino yelled after his retreating figure.


	7. Chapter 7

Lovino felt his mind slowly drift into focus while he tried to figure out what had woken him from his deep sleep. A cool breeze danced across his skin and he could barely make out the subtle autumn scents of burning leaves and freshly cut grass, damp with evening dew. 'Someone's opened the window,' he realized, lazily considering if she worry about the room's second occupant or let the comfortable fall weather loll him back to sleep. His body felt heavy, he was certain he hadn't moved since the difficult task of dragging himself from the bathroom to his bed. The momentum he had gained from weeks of unending work had finally faltered, and his body was taking the opportunity to punish its owner for all its abuse. Lovino tried to shift his legs experimentally, panicking when his right foot was only able to move a few inches before meeting resistance.

"Oh, you're awake!" A distant voice sounded. Lovino felt the mattress shift at his feet and forced his eyes open, blinking a few times to adjust to the dimly lit room before picking his head up slightly from the soft pillow. A familiar silhouette blocked the light streaming through the window from the full moon, and Lovino fell back into the bed with a huff from his slight exertion.

"What are you doing?" The older Italian croaked out, clearing his voice immediately when he heard the gravely tone of his speech.

Feliciano grabbed his brother's ankle and squeezed it lovingly, "Antonio said there was something wrong with you," the boy replied easily, "He thought you shouldn't be alone."

Lovino lifted his arm from his side and let his wrist thump heavily over his eyes, "I'm fine, as you can see," he managed around a yawn, "just tired."

"Are you sure?" Feliciano asked, a slight wine settling into his voice.

Lovino could feel the mattress shift and knew his brother was leaning forward to get a better look at his face, "I'm sure, what did that damn Spaniard tell you anyway?" He tried to sound angry but his exhaustion weakened his harsh tone.

"Nothing really," Feliciano said after a short pause, he was clearly lying, and it pissed Lovino off. His brother never lied to him, and he felt Antonio was solely to blame.

"Well he must have said something or you wouldn't be sitting at the end of my bed, watching me sleep like a creep!" Lovino spat, jerking his ankle out of Feliciano's grasp for emphasis.

Feliciano only laughed, amused at the way his brother refused to open his eyes, despite his anger. "I like watching you sleep, Lovi, you look so peaceful."

"That's only because I don't have to deal with idiots like you in my dreams!" Lovino growled, trying to roll on to his side, "get on your own bed, I'm tired." The mattress squeaked when Feliciano stood and shuffled across the room, and for one blissful second the older Italian felt confident in knowing his authority was finally being respected.

"Don't go to sleep yet," Feliciano chirped suddenly, pulling at Lovino's shoulder despite his older brother's moans of protest. "I have some food, you should eat first."

Lovino considered pretending he had already fallen asleep, his limbs felt like jelly and his eyelids seemed to be weighted down, but his stomach churned painfully inside him, the request for nourishment sending vibrations down his limbs. The draw of food was too great. Grimacing a little from the pain in his joints, Lovino pushed himself up on his elbows, rotating his body around until his back was safely propped against the wall. Feliciano tried to keep his face as neutral as possible while watching his brother, afraid that the slightest comment or non-verbal cue would make the older Italian refuse the meal on principle. Feliciano knew Lovino hated being coddled, especially by his younger brother, and he would often rather suffer than ask anyone for help. It made for a hard relationship, Feliciano often thought that his brother was the more sensitive of the two. He had an open heart and was easily affected by the smallest things, his anger was a shield and currently the only thing protecting him from completely falling apart.

Feliciano had resented Lovino for a short while because of it. When he was still a young teenager and just learning about love and attraction, he found many of his blossoming relationships squashed early on by his brother's putrid attitude. At the time, all the younger Italian's friends had told him his brother was jealous, they said Feliciano was cuter and nicer and more talented, that Lovino knew he would never be as desirable as his brother, so he compensated by sabotaging the younger's chances at love. Feliciano had grasped to that idea for a short while, out of desperation more than anything, he wanted to understand why his brother was the way he was. He had always been dense at understanding people's innermost feelings, but his brother's were especially shrouded, and it bothered him. Lovino was mean but he wasn't spiteful, and he had always taken care of Feliciano in his own way, making sure the boy was loved and well taken care of. Despite his obvious disdain of their living arrangement in Austria, Lovino didn't move out even when he was old enough to do so, only because Feliciano had begged him to stay. And when Feliciano was finally ready to go out on his own, after receiving a scholarship to a prestigious art school, Lovino had been right there, working hard to gain entrance to the same facility.

To an outsider it might seem that Lovino was the one dependent on his brother. In fact, Feliciano often wondered if Lovino felt that way, too. But the truth was, he didn't know what he would do without his brother. Lovino's protectiveness had kept Feliciano safe from heartbreak, any potentially poisonous relationships were thwarted without either of the involved parties having to end it. Boyfriends would say his brother was too much to deal with, and Feliciano would understand. It wasn't him they were rejecting, it was Lovino, and that made it bearable. It had made Feliciano confident and outgoing, he wasn't scared of people or friendships, his self-esteem had grown strong under his brother's fortification. Lovino, on the other hand, was left alone, his spirit chipped away by every blow he took for his brother. At least that's how Feliciano felt, the older Italian would never actually admit to feeling any remorse about his lack of agreeable human interaction. Lovino always insisted that the situation suited him, he never said he was happy with it though, and that's what worried Feliciano most.

"What are you staring at?" Lovino snarled, breaking Feliciano's thoughts.

The younger Italian only shrugged, turning and plodding over to the mini fridge to pull out a container covered in tin foil. He grabbed two bowls off the top of the microwave and spooned a generous portion of the spicy smelling concoction into each of them, slipping one into the microwave and covering it with a paper towel before pressing start. "What is that?" Lovino asked when the sweet smell of spices reached his nose and his stomach groaned in impatience.

"Paella, Antonio made it." Feliciano replied, pulling the steaming bowl out of the microwave when it started beeping and slipping the other bowl in.

"Why's he always making you food?" Lovino demanded angrily, pulling his knees up under his chin and wrapping his arms around them with a grimace.

"Are you cold?" Feliciano pulled the second bowl from the microwave and glanced at his brother, clinking a spoon into each dish and holding them carefully with a paper towel to protect his hands.

Lovino shook his head and reached up for the steaming bowl his brother offered. "Answer the question," he managed around a mouthful of food. Feliciano climbed onto the bed next to the older Italian and scooted toward him until their shoulders were touching.

"Ve~he doesn't really make me food, we usually go out to eat somewhere." The two sat quietly for a while, enjoying the warm meal and cool breeze. Lovino tried to not think too deeply about the food situation, his tired mind would inevitably jump to conclusions that weren't there. Antonio probably brought him food because it was about to go bad and he wanted to get rid of it, or he was experimenting with new recipes and the Spaniard was using him as a guinea pig. Whatever the case, Antonio had a crush on Feliciano, and any good deeds he did for Lovino couldn't be taken at face value.

"Do you like Antonio?" Feliciano said after a while, trying not to laugh when his brother nearly choked around his spoon.

"Of course not, why would you ask such a stupid question?" Lovino bit back when he finally stopped coughing.

"You just talk about him a lot and he seems to like you," Feliciano trailed off, glancing at the star lit window with a faint smile on his lips, "it would just be nice if you two could be friends."

Lovino watched his brother's behavior wearily, "do you like him?" He asked, the heaviness of his voice implying he didn't mean just as an acquaintance.

"Ve~I like Antonio very much." Feliciano replied cheerfully, taking another bite of spicy paella and humming with happiness.

Lovino grit his teeth and placed his bowl on the bed next to him so he could place both hands on his brother's wrists. "You know what I mean," he said seriously, peering into his brother's brown eyes, "do you love him?"

Feliciano blinked a few times before knitting his brows in confusion, "n-no," he said simply, concerned by his brother's odd behavior. "Are you alright, Lovi?" Feliciano whined when Lovino snapped his hands away and picked back up his bowl, burying his rapidly paling face in the half-eaten paella.

"'m Fine. Good. I'm glad." He replied jerkily as he continued eating, the pleasure from earlier replaced by robotic movements. Lovino felt odd, his head was throbbing with emotions he couldn't place. He didn't know if he felt pity for the Spaniard, so infatuated with the younger Italian that he was willing to put up with his disagreeable older brother, or relief knowing that he didn't have to worry about Feliciano getting involved with the older man. A tiny part of him admitted that he was relieved, if Feliciano was in love with Antonio there was no way Lovino would allow himself to get involved with him, but he rejected the thought immediately. There was no way Lovino was getting involved with Antonio regardless, because even if the man did love him, and he didn't, Lovino wasn't supposed to be forming relationships with people, especially not idiot Spaniards.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Feliciano pried, leaning over to place his empty bowl on the floor before straightening back up and leaning his head on his brother's shoulder. "I worry about you, too, you know."

"What do you mean 'too'" Lovino asked, staring warily at his quarter full bowl of paella and wishing he had the appetite to finish it, he supposed the weeks of deprivation had made his stomach smaller.

"You know, Antonio's always going on about how tired and thin you look." Feliciano yawned, "he said he was going to start helping you out. He's such a nice guy." Lovino felt the back of his neck grow warm, of course he knew Feliciano would know something about Antonio's activities, there would be no point in the Spaniard going out of his way to assist the older Italian if the younger didn't know about it. After all, all his effort was technically for Feliciano. Still, Lovino couldn't help but feel his heart quake at the thought of Antonio worrying about him, even if it wasn't genuine.

Lovino was startled from his thoughts when he felt his hair being tousled by his brother's deep, even breaths. "Don't fall asleep over here, bastard," he argued lazily, feeling drowsiness settle back into his bones. Lovino shrugged his shoulder slightly when his brother didn't respond, before giving up and leaning his head on top of Feliciano's. He didn't have the energy to put the younger Italian in his own bed, and a part of him enjoyed the warm contact. Lovino gazed at the clear, fall night, smiling slightly against the earth-smelling breeze as his eyelids grew more and more heavy. This was the perfect life for him, just he and his brother, understanding each other and trying to care in their own messy ways. He didn't understand why his body insisted on adding an additional person to their already balanced dynamic.

* * *

Lovino woke with a start, throwing his head around, disoriented. He kicked his covers off, sitting up quickly and pausing when he glanced at his brother's sleeping form, sprawled out on his own bed in only his underwear and a tank top. 'He must have woken up in the night,' Lovino realized, wondering how he didn't stir when his brother had tucked him into bed. Lovino yawned and stretched his arms over his head, his body was still tired and achy and he felt like he could sleep for another week, hell, a year, but his work had gone partially neglected the day before and he was going to have to get to the studio early to make up for it.

Lovino turned to glance at the clock on his nightstand, the bright orange letters glowed ominously against the blue early morning light. '5:45' he registered. His body had become accustomed to waking up at ungodly hours, he realized as he inched to the edge of the bed and regretfully left the warm blankets to pad to his dresser. It was good, Lovino pondered as he pulled off his crinkled, bed-rumpled shirt and pulled on a fresh button-up. He would probably make it to the studio by 6, which meant 3 good hours of work time before classes began. Still, he couldn't help regretting that he his body had awakened so dutifully. Sure, he would have been irritated if he had woken up later, but any extra minute of sleep was an extra minute of tranquility, a time when his brain could rest from its newly constant troubles and anxieties.

He pulled off his slacks and underwear and tossed them next to the dresser to be washed before rifling around his drawers for a new pair. His laundry supply was growing low, he realized as he pulled on a clean pair of underwear and dug around for some pants. Lovino shivered as he pulled on a pair of dark jeans, the window had been left open and the chilly fall air was still breezing through it. The Italian wondered if it was really as cold as it felt or if it was his body's weakened state making him shiver so badly, he didn't want to look like a fool, walking around with a coat on, but he didn't want to freeze either. Deciding to compromise, Lovino made his way into the closet next to his dresser and pulled his favorite cotton bomber jacket from its hanger. He dipped his nose into the fabric, taking a deep breath and holding it as his senses filled with the light, flowery smell of dryer sheets. He had never gotten the hang of making his laundry smell so nice, only the pieces left over from his time in Austria had such a sweet and delicate scent.

Lovino shrugged the gray-blue fabric onto his shoulders, sighing from the warmth it provided when he zipped it up over his chest and padded into the bathroom to use the toilet and brush his teeth. He regarded his reflection for a moment when he had clinked his toothbrush back into place, his face was pale and gaunt and his eyes were heavy with unsaid thoughts, shining in a silent plea for help. "Dammit," Lovino sighed as he grabbed a brush from the medicine cabinet above the sink and began to roughly comb his tangled brown tendrils. He would have to practice steeling his gaze, it was no wonder people had been walking all over him, when his eyes were so readily revealing his weaknesses to them.

When he thought he looked presentable, Lovino trudged back to his dresser and pulled out a pair of socks, slumping on to his mattress to pull them on his feet before leaning over the foot of his bed to find his discarded shoes from the day before. Once he had jammed his feet into his sneakers, he straightened back up and stretched his arms behind him, pushing at the small of his back until it popped with a satisfying crack. Lovino sighed from the release of tension and dipped down to grab his satchel from the floor before making his way to the door and easing it open, careful not to disturb his sleeping brother. He held the handle till the door closed, slowly letting the lock click back into place and exhaling as if he had been holding his breath in an effort to be as noiseless as possible. Lovino plodded heavily down the hall, he couldn't believe how sluggish he felt as he stumbled down the stairs and whipped around the corner into the cold, autumn morning. He stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets and hunched his shoulders in an effort to maintain body heat while making the short trek to the art building. Despite its crispness, the dawn was beautiful, he stared wistfully at the weak gray sky, shrouded by a herd of low-hanging dark blue clouds.

Lovino lingered at the doorway of the facility, trying to ingrain the lightening sky into his memory before slipping into the warm building and making his way to the studio. He sighed when he entered the blissfully empty room, flicking on the light and moving towards his favorite table in the back corner of the studio. The Italian slid his satchel from his aching shoulder to the floor, easing his body into a chair before leaning over to pull his sketchbook and a pencil from his bag. He couldn't do anything until he had decided a direction, he had been gotten by with his well-drawn stream-of-consciousness lithographs, but after his critique with his professor he knew he was going to have to start planning his designs again. The key thing was to come up with a concept, a jumping off point. Lovino knew he had many things he could make art about, but he didn't dare present his most secretive thoughts in any way. If he made art about his relationship with his brother or his mother's death or his aversion to love, it meant he was letting people in, and that was dangerous. He knew his art would probably be more potent if he allowed himself to be more honest, but it just wasn't worth it.

Lovino let his eyes cross as he stared at the blank page, he started tapping his pencil on the table, hoping that when the lead hit the page his hand would go off on its own, somehow creating an incredible design its owner had never considered. It didn't happen of course, and soon the measured tick became a marker of how many minutes were rushing by, wasted by Lovino's lack of inspiration. His mind was too full of his current tribulations to consider any trifling problems to make art about, and he had always been too involved in his own little world to be any good at universal concepts. Sighing, Lovino slammed his pencil down and leaned back in his chair, squeezing his eyes shut and rubbing the crusty sleep away from his eyelids with the inside of his wrists. He would have to compromise, he supposed, he would draw whatever came to his mind but make sure it was well-designed, he could worry about the meaning later. Artists were always spewing bull-shit after all, and with the life he lead constantly changing faces to keep people as distant as possible, he was sure he would be able to do the same.

A soft knock sounded at the open studio door and Lovino leaned forward and snapped his eyes open. He waited for his professor to plod into the room, but when a few silent seconds went by with no one entering, he let out a tired "yes?" Lovino felt his chest freeze when a head of familiar wavy locks appeared in the doorway.

"Ah, Lovi, I thought I might find you here," Antonio smiled when he spotted the Italian.

"Wh-what the hell are you doing?" Lovino growled at the unwelcome intruder, folding his arms over his chest when his mouth drooped in a frown.

Antonio laughed at the boy's sour face and swooped into a chair across from his, laying his satchel on the table and pulling an aluminum thermos and two styrofoam cups from its contents. "I couldn't stop thinking about you yesterday," Antonio admitted easily, "you looked so weak and-and thin."

"I'm not weak, you bastard." Lovino lowered his eyebrows and bit the inside of his lip.

Antonio only shrugged a shoulder as he carefully poured some steaming, bitter smelling coffee into each cup. "Still, I've decided something."

Lovino waited for him to continue for a few minutes before growing impatient, "decided what?" He demanded, pulling his arms in closer around his chest.

Antonio smiled and held a cup to the boy, "I'm going to make sure you're taken care of."

Lovino felt his cheeks burning as he begrudgingly accepted the offered coffee. "Like hell," he growled around the rim of the warm mug. "I don't need to be taken care of, by you or anyone else."

Antonio nodded knowingly, "Maybe not, but, Feliciano gets sad when you overwork yourself, and then yesterday...you looked sad, too," Antonio looked lost in thought for a moment before he snapped to focus again, "and you're both too cute to have frowns on your faces!" The Spaniard's voice rose to a passionate shout as he reached the end of his speech and he held his fist over his chest to demonstrate his reverence for all things adorable.

Lovino rolled his eyes in irritation, desperately trying to keep his cheeks from blushing further at the idea of being referred to as cute. "You're a fucking weirdo," the Italian snarled, "and a pervert," he added for good measure.

"Aw, don't say that," Antonio whined, digging around in his satchel and pulling out a greasy brown bag. "Want one?" He asked, folding open the parcel and taking out a piece of fried dough, popping it in his mouth before offering the bag to Lovino.

The Italian dug his hand in and pulled out a few pieces, he wanted to refuse on principle, but he found the sweet scent of the cinnamon-smelling pastries too great to resist. "I hope they're good," Antonio said as he watched the boy munch thoughtfully. "I got up early to make them."

"They're fine," Lovino snorted simply, not wanting to give too much praise to the overbearing Spaniard. It didn't seem to matter though, as Antonio's face lit up in delight and he started in on a tirade about how golden a doughnut hole needed to be before it was a perfect consistency. Lovino spaced out while Antonio talked, biting the inside of his cheek when the Spaniard licked cinnamon off the end of his finger and his mind went wild with inappropriate thoughts. He couldn't figure out why he was sitting here eating with the older boy, and why it was the third time he had done so. He was losing sight of his objectives and failing at the one thing he cared the most about succeeding in, it was bad enough that his traitorous body was lusting after Antonio, but Lovino wasn't supposed to let his mind give into it. He knew he had never been physically strong, but he had always thought his mind made up for it. Now his whole being was coming into question, and it made him feel dizzy and unsure. He unconsciously braced his hands on the edge of the table, certain that he could float to the ceiling at any moment, no longer anchored by his sense of self.

"Why are you always cooking for me?" Lovino blurted out suddenly, immediately regretting it when Antonio stopped his rant about gaining the perfect balance of sugar and cinnamon and gaped at the Italian.

Antonio popped another doughnut into his mouth and cocked his head to the side, "you share what you love with me so I want to share with you," he said when he swallowed, licking the powdery residue from his fingers and making Lovino bury his face in his hands in an attempt to hide his reddening face.

"I'm not sharing Feliciano with you," he snapped, his voice muffled by the cuffs of his cotton sleeves.

Antonio burst out in a chesty laugh, amused by the Italian's child-like gesture, "That's not what I meant." He explained when he had finally caught his breath. "I mean...this...uh," he cast his hand around to indicate the room.

"Printmaking?" Lovino asked, picking his face up from his palms and quirking an eyebrow in inquiry.

"Yeah, that's what it's called," Antonio nodded happily, crumpling up the empty brown bag and tossing it in the large trash can situated near the table.

"Why do you care about it?" Lovino pressed, unsure as to why the Spaniard would be concerned with his chosen medium.

Antonio took a sip of coffee and smiled lightly, "well you seem to enjoy it, so there must be something to love."

Lovino's mouth gaped open, "do I really look like I enjoy this?" He sputtered angrily, slamming an open palm on the table and sending his forgotten pencil clattering to the floor. "I do it because I have to." He blurted, instantly regretting the vague admission when Antonio's brows knit in confusion.

'What do you mean you ha-" Antonio started, before Lovino scooted his chair back noisily and snatched the Spaniard's bag from the table, stuffing the empty thermos into it and shoving the satchel roughly into the older boy's chest.

"Ok, thanks for the breakfast, now I need to get back to work," Lovino said sternly, pointing a finger to the door and cocking his hip in a dare for Antonio to protest.

The Spaniard let out a thoughtful "hmm," before wrapping his arms around his bag and straightening to his feet. "I'll be back with dinner," he said simply, brushing a soft knuckle on Lovino's cheek before exiting the room. "See you tonight, Lovi!" He said with renewed vigor, throwing the Italian a warm smile over his shoulder before making his way down the hall.

Lovino's fingers strayed to his heated cheek when the echoing footsteps were finally silenced by the sound of a squeaking door. His nerves vibrated in his fingertips as he lightly felt the place Antonio had just touched. He was certain his skin would be melted away, or at least burned, but it was still soft and smooth as if it had not just been ignited with the heat of the sun. 'This can't be happening,' Lovino's mind raced as he tried to force his lustful feelings away, 'I won't let this happen.'


	8. Chapter 8

Lovino crouched over a clear piece of mylar, carefully brushing ink over it's surface in the soft red glow of the safelights. He had been hiding out in the dark room since the early evening, when he decided he couldn't afford to spend another night away from the studio. It had been an easy decision, Antonio had already proven he didn't mind visiting his dorm, and as long as Lovino stayed tucked away in the print studio's cramped dark room, he didn't think the Spaniard would be able to find him. Lovino wondered what time it was as he held a transparency up to dim light to study the half-toned image. He hated himself for choosing to hide away instead of confronting his problems, he knew the only way to truly expel Antonio's attention would be to treat the man as cruelly as possible. Lovino was certainly capable of it, being nasty was a talent he had cultivated over the years, it was his true art. He knew just how to cut a person down, he often felt like a surgeon, studying every characteristic his admirer might find endearing or likable and carefully severing it, replacing it with something ugly and unrecognizable.

He couldn't do it with Antonio, though, he realized as he grabbed a spare piece of black foam core from its place leaning against the wall and dropped it to the floor between his legs. He couldn't be mean to Antonio, because, if he was honest, he didn't want the boy to hate him. It was one thing if the Spaniard grew bored of him or lost interest because he could never find him, but it was another to have him dislike him and not want to be around him. Lovino placed a transparency on the black surface and leaned over it, straining his eyes to see where he needed to cut and wishing he didn't have to struggle with only the glow of the red lights to guide him. He clicked open his box cutter and grabbed a metal ruler from his side, laying it over the transparency where he thought the image ended and running his razor over it carefully, immediately holding it up to the light to examine his handiwork when he had finished.

'Not bad,' Lovino considered, his cutting job wasn't perfect, but it was no worse than it would have been if he had perfect lighting. He had never been good at anything that required a great deal of precision, he was better at dealing with a big picture than the parts that made it. Lovino clicked his tongue quietly at the black dots speckled on his hands and arms, he was normally so careful when he coated his mesh screens with emulsion, but this time he had spilled the gluey green goop all down his arms and into the metal flatbed. It was embarrassing and annoying, he was an advanced student and was supposed to be above stupid mistakes like filling the trough-like scoop coat too much and letting the emulsion drip over the sides. He glanced up at his drying screens, normally he coated them very cleanly and uniformly, but this time there were dark patches littering their surfaces, a clear indication of his varying pressure and unsteady hands. 'That's going to be a nightmare to print,' Lovino thought to himself bitterly, he would be lucky to salvage them at all, but for all the time he had spent coating them, he couldn't bear to clean the large screens off and try again.

Besides, he had already ducked out to the sink once to clean his emulsion stained scoop coater, and his heart had beat so heavily at the prospect of being caught that he he was certain it would burst through his chest. He hadn't even bothered to wash his green muck covered hands, frightened that every second he spent out of his dimly lit sanctuary was daring fate to end its mercy. Lovino placed the freshly cropped transparency to the side and pulled a new one over, holding it to the red light before placing it on the foam surface and slicing it, too. He had given up trying to listen for any indication that Antonio had come, the door for the dark room was too thick, and the Spaniard would probably wait in the room with the presses. The cave, as the printmaking students liked to call it, was situated across from the sinks in the silkscreen room, close to the door but, to Lovino's disappointment, not close enough to hear footsteps in the hall.

Lovino squinted as he held the clear sheet up to the light again, studying his handiwork before laying it to the side and picking up a new piece to crop. He bit his bottom lip slightly in concentration as he worked, he didn't know why he was so anxious to know if Antonio was there or not. The thought of the Spaniard's presence, only feet away from his own, made an uncomfortable heat climb from the sides of his neck to his cheeks. Lovino told himself he didn't want to see Antonio, that the man wasn't anything but a burden to him and a distraction from the work that needed to be completed, but despite his efforts to make his mind believe it, his body wouldn't cooperate. Every tiny sound made his heart jump to his throat, at one point the fan he had set up to dry his screens had blown a rogue transparency across the room, and the accompanying clap of the hard plastic folding in on itself made Lovino's mind swirl numbly in fear and anticipation. The Italian shook his head slightly to clear his thoughts, brushing a distracted hand through his bangs when the soft tendrils stuck to his sweaty forehead.

'I can't do this,' Lovino thought to himself tiredly, picking the sliced foam core from the floor and propping it back up against the wall. He didn't know what he was referring to exactly, there were so many things he couldn't handle recently: his heavy course load, his increasingly strained relationship with his brother, his flimsy grasp of a concept for his art, just to name a few. But Lovino knew what he meant, he couldn't make Antonio hate him, he had already become attached, though he didn't know why. He wracked his brain, desperate to discover the moment the Spaniard had worked his way under his skin. It should've been easy, he could count their encounters on one hand after all, but he couldn't nail down the exact event, the precise characteristic that had drawn him to Antonio. He supposed it might be his similarities to his brother that had captured him, and it was that oblivious and unyieldingly kind personality that rendered his defenses useless.

It would be okay, though, Lovino considered as he pulled a dispenser of clear tape from his pocket and started to adjust the transparencies on the concrete floor until their images were aligned. Antonio was going to be a challenge to shake off, but he was determined to do it, because as much as his body wished for Antonio, his mind was terrified of him. Letting the Spaniard in would be like casting a fresh wound in dirty water and hoping not to acquire an infection. The world was a cesspool of bad people and circumstances, and Lovino had dealt with enough of both to not want to risk opening his heart any more than he had. To do so would open a floodgate of emotions and weakness that Lovino wasn't ready to deal with.

'But how do you repel an idiot without being obvious,' the Italian wracked his brain as he pulled a strip of tape from the dispenser, wincing at the short scream it released from being stretched from it's roll. Lovino was going to have to start from the back and move forward. It was like printmaking, he pondered as he squinted his eyes, making sure the two transparencies were perfectly connected before placing the tape over the seam to seal their bond. When making a print you work from the bottom layer, painstakingly deciding what color and element belongs on the bottom or the top in order to assure the final product is what the artist envisioned. It was almost impossible to correct a mistake, once a color was applied it was permanent, and that was why the design process was so important. Lovino would have to do the same thing with Antonio, it wouldn't be enough to make the Spaniard hate him, his affection for the older man had wound itself too deep, and as long as he felt those connections, he would never be able to fully separate from him.

Lovino pulled a longer strip of tape from the roll and hovered it over the partially connected transparencies, ghosting the adhesive hesitantly a few seconds before swiftly lowering it across the seam. Instead of making Antonio hate Lovino, Lovino was going to have to learn to hate the Spaniard. Once that was done, it would be easy to act out, to let his old ways of acting mercilessly cruel and spiteful turn Antonio away. Lovino stuffed the tape dispenser back in his pocket and grunted quietly as he pushed himself onto his knees and then, after picking up the newly bonded transparencies, his feet. He scooted to his side and hovered over the large light table, laying the clear sheet over it and studying the image for a while, struggling to remember if he was supposed to place the mylar face-up or face-down. He understood what making himself hate Antonio would entail, it meant he would have to actually spend time with the boy, and not hide from him as he had found so tempting to do. Lovino wasn't excited about the prospect, spending time with Antonio meant risking him forming feelings beyond just those of his traitorous body, and that meant when he finally found a reason to hate the Spaniard, it would be that much more painful to do so. That short term pain would be worth it though, he assured himself, if it meant not having to experience the perpetual agony an actual relationship would afford.

When he was sure his transparencies were facing the right way, Lovino leaned over and plucked a screen from the metal flatbed, rubbing his hand on the surface to make sure the emulsion had hardened before laying it on top of the light table. He reached behind him and thumbed through a few sheets of black foam core, finally location a big enough piece and pulling it from the pile to ease inside the wooden frames of his screen. It made him nervous to consider spending time with Antonio, he realized as he turned to his side and wrapped a hand around each side of the large piece of glass resting on the ledge next to him. He gasped a little as he hoisted it up, having forgotten how heavy the glass was, and panicked when his hands wobbled precariously under the weight. He thrust a knee up under the edge brittle material, standing that way until his hands stopped trembling. It was stupid to get so worked up, Lovino scolded himself when his palms started to sweat. The Italian had never met anyone that hadn't disgusted him almost immediately, the idea of Antonio being any different was ridiculous. His exposure would be short and then he could rip the Spaniard away like a band-aid that wasn't given time to properly adhere to the skin it was protecting.

Lovino's leg started to shake from its precarious position and the Italian was forced to place it back on the floor. He tightened his grip around the glass, intending to hoist it quickly onto the light table, only to watch helplessly as the heavy glass slipped immediately from his moist palms, shattering impossibly loudly on the hard cement floor. Lovino stood gaping at the glinting pieces, unsure if the sound echoing in his ears was the splintering of the glass or the high pitched shriek he had let out when it happened. He vaguely registered the sound of heavy footsteps and someone knocking frantically at the door, "is everything okay?" The concerned voice sounded.

Lovino blinked heavily, trying to remember how to transmit words from his brain to his mouth. "F-fine," he croaked out, taking a hesitant step back and wincing at the sound of crunching glass beneath his feet.

"Lovi?" The voice sounded through the thick door, "is that you?"

Lovino clenched his eyes shut, balling his fists at his side as he willed his body to cave in on itself. 'I can't do this, I can't do this, I can't do this,' he lost himself to all sound as his mind throbbed against the pulsing mantra. His toes vibrated with nerves, the uncomfortable sensation pushing its way to his chest, collecting there in a heavy knot of unreleased emotion. Lovino knew he was dangerously close to crying, he could already see the tears blurring in his periphery, stinging his eyes with their unpleasant saltiness. He tried to inhale deeply and clear the distress away, but his breath kept catching in his throat, hitching uncomfortably against the pressure in his chest.

"Lovi, I'm going to come in, alright?" Antonio sounded, not waiting for an answer before turning the knob and pushing his way into the dark room's red glow.

Lovino threw a hand up to protest, croaking out a weak "no," and grimacing at how pathetic he sounded. It was a useless gesture, as Antonio rushed forward and grabbed the Italian by his outstretched wrist, gently pulling him out of the dark room. Lovino tried to resist, if anything the red light would keep Antonio from noticing the dark blush he knew was marring his face, but the Spaniard was stronger than him and easily guided him out into the brightly lit studio. Lovino blinked against the painful illumination, trying to clear away the light green tint that shaded his vision from heavy exposure to the safelights while Antonio grabbed him by the elbows and stretched his arms out, carefully checking over every inch of the Italian's exposed skin to be certain he hadn't hurt himself.

"I'm fine, you idiot," Lovino snapped, jerking his arms away from the Spaniard's grasp when he finally started coming to his senses.

"What did you break?" Antonio knit his eyebrows in concern when Lovino cast his glistening eyes to the side and gasped.

"You can't leave this door open, the screens are light sensitive!" The Italian fretted, rushing over and slamming the door shut. Antonio cocked his head to the side curiously when Lovino stood, staring at the door. He reached an arm out to pat the Italian's shoulder comfortingly when the boy let his forehead thump heavily against the hard wood.

"It's ok Lovi, it was an acci-"

"What time is it?" The Italian interrupted, not pulling his eyes from the door as he fought to keep his composure.

"Uh, I guess it's like 7:30, why?"

Lovino let out a heavy sigh, "I can't fucking believe this." He seethed through clenched teeth, squeezing his eyes shut in frustration. "I have to get a new piece of glass," he mumbled more to himself than Antonio, "now." He added for emphasis.

Antonio fought the impulse to pull the Italian into his chest and pet his soft hair, the boy might look like Feliciano, but he was certain the same methods of comforting wouldn't work on him. Still, he couldn't help but want to coddle the boy, he supposed it was due to his similarities to his younger brother, or maybe it was just how fragile he looked all the time. It was weird that someone that acted so mean could also look like the slightest thing could break him, but it made Antonio feel oddly protective. It didn't feel like a burden to take care of the boy, it just felt right, like he was born to do it. "You look like you've had a rough day, why don't we just clean up the mess and you can buy glass tomorrow," Antonio reasoned, reaching a hesitant hand out to brush away the hairs hiding Lovino's clenched eyes.

Lovino lifted his forehead from the door and stared into the Spaniard's emerald eyes. "It can't wait till tomorrow you bastard, my professor will kill me if he finds out what I've done!" Lovino grimaced when his throat clenched painfully, "I'm a fucking advanced student, I shouldn't be making stupid fucking mistakes like this!" He hated the way his voice was catching, but he just felt so stupid, so utterly useless, and it was killing him.

Antonio gazed at the Italian, his heart wrenching painfully at the way the boy's cheeks turned red and his eyes shimmered with tears. He pushed his lips into a line and let out a small "hmm" of understanding before grabbing Lovino by the wrist and pulling him out into the hall.

"Wh-what are you doing," Lovino sputtered, stumbling behind the Spaniard's quick pace.

Antonio glanced over his shoulder and smiled widely, "you need glass, right?" It was a question but Lovino knew he didn't expect an answer.

"I don't have a car, idiot!" He said instead, finally gaining his footing and wrenching his wrist from the Spaniard's strong grasp.

Antonio only laughed and slowed down his pace so Lovino was walking next to him, "we'll take mine, of course."

Lovino wanted to argue, the thought of being stuck in a car with Antonio was anything but ideal, especially in his current emotional state. But, he admitted to himself with a small sigh, he wasn't in a position to argue. He couldn't get any work done that night without a piece of glass, and more than that, his pride wouldn't allow him to let his professor or fellow classmates find out he had made such a novice mistake. As the pair made their way to the end of the hall, Lovino couldn't help but note how slight he looked next to Antonio. He was a good head shorter than the man and his thin frame was puny compared to the Spaniard's filled out and muscular body. His stomach churned miserably when he considered how physically inferior he was to Antonio. All this time he had been concerned with the prospect of forming a relationship with the older boy, never had the idea dawned on him that Antonio could do much better and most likely wasn't even attracted to him. Not that he would blame him, Lovino thought as he neared closer to the reflecting double doors, his hair splayed messily around his face and his clothes hung a little too loosely around his thin body. He hated the way his bones had become more pronounced, he much preferred his soft baby fat to this skeletal figure.

"After you," Antonio moved around Lovino to push the door open, pressing his body against the cold glass so the Italian could pass by him into the drizzly evening weather.

Lovino pulled down the sleeves he had earlier pushed up and tightened his jacket around him, cold raindrops lazily dotted his shoulder and cheeks, igniting his body with shivers every time the chilly contact was made.

"Don't you love this fall weather?" Antonio said dreamily, walking up to Lovino's side and draping an arm casually across his shoulders. The Italian only shrugged, he wanted to pull away from Antonio's touch but the warmth his body provided was too tempting.

"How far away is your car?" Lovino asked, tremors shooting down his back when another raindrop pelted his cheek.

"Just across the street, why, are you cold?" Antonio cooed playfully, wrapping his arms around the boy in a tight hug only to shrink back with a grunt when he was elbowed in the stomach. "Not cute." He gasped out, clutching his gut with one hand while he dug around in his pockets for his keys.

Lovino ignored him, mouth turned in a slight frown as he considered the night's misfortunes. He knew he should consider it something of a blessing that Antonio was willing to drive him out to get new glass, yet it was the Spaniard's fault the accident had occurred in the first place. If he hadn't been sitting in the studio, disturbing Lovino with his presence, the Italian wouldn't have been so distracted. Lovino's shoulders shook with shock when the car next to him lit up, he shot his head back to Antonio , casting him a bitter scowl.

Antonio ignored the Italian's foul face and punched the unlock button a second time to open the passenger seat. "You just gonna stand in the rain?" He laughed, pushing past Lovino when he reached him and pulling the door open for the dumbfounded boy. Lovino looked from the bright red car to Antonio's smiling face, he hadn't expected to have to put his plan into action so early, in fact, he had intended to put it off as long as possible. Lovino sighed inwardly and pulled himself into the car, fastening his seatbelt immediately so he could cross his arms in front of his body and try to regain the heat in his freezing limbs. Antonio ran around the front of the car and flopped into the driver's seat, immediately revving the engine and turning the heat up for his shivering passenger. "Any idea where we should go to get the glass?" He turned his head to the boy, hands poised on the wheel, ready to drive away the moment they had a direction.

"I know of a few places, I just don't know if they'll be open." Lovino admitted, loosening his arms a bit when warm hair filtered through the vents.

Antonio nodded and put the car in reverse, wavy hair bouncing when he threw his head back to stare through the rearview mirror. "You just tell me where to go," he said, shifting into drive once he had pulled out far enough and easing forward over the wet and crunchy asphalt. Lovino leaned against the glass as the two rode in silence, it had been a long time since he had been in a car, and he enjoyed the experience, despite his company. He had always liked riding on dark, rainy nights, the slight buzz of the raindrops pelting the windows and the eerie glow of lights reflecting on the moisture was relaxing, it made him feel like he was outside of himself, like he was a spectator to his life. Outside there was turmoil and misery, but inside he was safe and warm, watching through the window with amused curiosity.

"Turn right here," Lovino piped up, pointing a finger towards the road he wanted Antonio to take. Antonio nodded in understanding and eased into the turning lane, flicking on his turning signal before slowing down and gently pulling his wheel to the right. Lovino bit his bottom lip as he searched the left side of the road, trying to spot the desired building. "Ah, all the lights are off," he sighed when they neared the neon sign on the street professing the stores ability to cater to the public's every glass need.

"It's alright, we'll just check the next place," Antonio comforted when he saw the Italian's lip quiver slightly in his periphery. He pulled into the darkened store's parking lot and turned around, heading the opposite way back up the street. "Most local places are probably closed by now," he reasoned, "you know any chains around here that might have what you need?"

"I guess we can try," Lovino snarled, the corner of his mouth curving into a scowl, "but local places have better quality."

Antonio nodded knowingly, "I'm a chef, you don't have to tell me that!" He laughed, "so which way should I go?" He asked when he neared the end of the road.

Lovino sat up in his seat and studied their location, "go right, there should be a place up the road," he decided, glancing nervously at the clock. It was pushing eight, and he was afraid even chain stores would be closing any time. Lovino's heart fluttered in anticipation as they neared the bright hardware store, he made Antonio drive by the automatic doors so he could be sure of the store hours before he ventured back out into the cold weather. "8:30," he sighed in relief when he had strained his eyes enough to see the tiny posted hours. Antonio cheered happily and swerved up a lane, pulling into a parking spot and rushing out to open Lovino's door.

The Italian only scoffed at the gesture, quickly pushing the door open before Antonio had a chance to grab the handle. "When did it get so damn cold," he mumbled to himself when he slammed the door shut and started padding across the glistening wet parking lot to the white light of the store.

"You just need some meat on your bones, Lovi," Antonio teased, stepping up next to the boy and patting him gently on the back.

"Why, so I can be fat like you?" Lovino spat back, rolling his eyes to the side when Antonio pouted and threw his arms to the sky in mock anguish.

"'Fat' he calls me, I can't help it that I love food!" The Spaniard yelled to the drizzling sky.

Lovino almost wanted to smile at the melodramatic display, but instead he elbowed the boy in his side, "stop it idiot, you're going to cause a scene." He hissed when they passed through the double doors into the blinding florescent lights.

Lovino walked a couple steps ahead of Antonio, determined to keep anyone from thinking they were anything more than acquaintances. Eventually he spotted the small station for glass and clapped down the gray cement aisle, ignoring the brightly colored packages of wood glue and spray paint and immediately jamming the red button next to the glass display for customer assistance. Antonio roamed the aisle while Lovino folded his arms over his chest and tapped his foot impatiently, "you'd think they'd want to get the customers out quickly so they could go home," Lovino seethed. He had already wasted too much time tonight, and he still had the mess to clean up in the dark room. He hadn't even considered what might happen if another student happened to wander in for a late night printing session, and cursed himself mentally for not leaving a note on the door.

"Aw, Lovi, don't get all worked up," Antonio teased, holding up a can of bright red spray paint and pressing it against the Italian's cheek. "It looks like you!" He laughed, throwing his hand over his mouth to muffle his chuckles when Lovino threw him a burning glare and slapped his hand away forcefully.

"This isn't funny, Bastard!" He roared, wishing the Spaniard could understand the seriousness of his situation. He was responsible for two things, his brother and that printmaking studio, and lately he had been letting both areas down. Lovino huffed and leaned against a shelf of packing tape, the combination of the piercing white lights and his lack of food since breakfast was making his temples start to throb. Antonio glanced at the red-faced Italian and placed the spray paint back in its place, walking over to where the boy leaned with his arms crossed over his chest.

"I'm sure they just didn't hear it," Antonio soothed, feeling sympathetic over the boy's miserable face. The Italian looked defeated, the florescent lights sucked his skin of its color and cast dark shadows across his eyes and cheekbones. "Right," Antonio nodded when the boy didn't immediately acknowledge him, he turned on his heel, ready to stomp down the aisle and harass the sales associates until someone came over to help the Italian, but paused when he felt cold fingers grab his wrist.

"No," Lovino said simply, some life returning to his eyes as he straightened up, "I'll do it." Antonio pouted slightly as he trailed behind the boy, he had wanted to impress Lovino with his heroic ways and maybe endear the Italian to him a little more. Every time he felt he was gaining some leverage with the boy, it was snatched away quickly. At this point he didn't know if he had made Lovino like him more or less, but if there was one observation people had always made about him, it was that he was he had an incredible and unwavering focus when it came to accomplishing his goals. Some called him narrow-minded for it, but he didn't care, he simply knew what he wanted in life and wasn't afraid to pursue it. So he wasn't ready to give up on Lovino, he knew he could make the boy like him, especially if it meant earning permission to court his brother.

Eventually Lovino was able to find someone to assist him with his glass needs, and after some verbal reaming from the Italian regarding the terrible quality of the too- sharp bevels, the pair made their way back to the car, Antonio holding the glass tightly to prevent repeating the earlier incident. Lovino fingered the key fob clumsily and held it close to his face, trying to find the picture of the trunk in the darkly lit parking lot before giving up and pressing the buttons randomly. After a few false attempts, the trunk unlatched with a click and the Italian eased it up, helping Antonio steady the glass into the compartment. Lovino fussed around for a while, crumpling spare pieces of newspaper and plastic bags around the corners of the fragile piece before carefully closing the trunk and sliding into the passenger seat.

He slumped forward slightly when Antonio revved the engine, he was relieved that he had been able to fix at least one problem in his life, but now that the stress was gone he was becoming aware of his body again. He head swirled painfully as he watched the windshield wipers squeak back and forth, and despite the heat circulating from the vents, his breaths felt cold and shallow. He realized he was about to pass out when the color drained from his vision, the world looked like a slow motion film with bad reception, everything was blurred together in a swirling snow of black and white. Lovino didn't want to call attention to himself, it seemed like every time he was around Antonio something had to go wrong. He was beginning to think that he wasn't going to have to find a characteristic about Antonio to hate, the bad luck he experienced when he was around the boy would be more than sufficient to make the Italian resent him. Lovino ducked his head between his knees when a dark vignette started to form in the edges of his vision, deciding anything would be better than passing out in the damn Spaniard's car.

Antonio glanced from the road, his eyebrows knit with concern. "Lovi?" He asked gently, "are you carsick?"

"No," Lovino breathed through his teeth, rubbing his forehead against his knees when he slowly shook his head, "just dizzy."

"Have you eaten since breakfast?" Antonio asked, wanting to reach over and comb his fingers through the boy's hair, but knowing he needed to keep his eyes on the road. When Lovino didn't immediately respond, the Spaniard sighed and searched for a place to stop. "Hold on," he comforted, flicking on his turning signal when he finally spotted a bright neon sign indicating a fast food restaurant. Lovino straightened up in his seat when he heard Antonio slide down his window and order a large soda, "what do you want to eat?" the Spaniard turned to the weary looking Italian.

Lovino blinked hard a few times, trying to figure out what was going on before letting his eyebrows dip in anger. "I don't eat fast food."

"I know, but you need something in your stomach and this is the quickest way. C'mon, just get fries or something." Antonio pleaded, laughing a little when Lovino's mouth gaped open in disgust.

"I hate potatoes!" The Italian declared, shuddering at the thought of trying to stomach a salty fry.

"How about chili, that would be good on a cold night, right?" Antonio continued, not disturbed by the Italian's irritable behavior.

Lovino shrugged and nodded, as much as he wanted to resist the Spaniard's kindness, the truth was that he was hungry, and the thought of eating something warm and spicy made his stomach churn in anticipation. Antonio grinned and turned to place the order, leaving the window down as he eased the car around the corner, stopping next to the second window and digging around in his middle console for cash.

"N-no, let me get it," Lovino argued, hoisting his pelvis up to reach into his back pocket for his wallet. Antonio waved a dismissing hand at the Italian and shushed him placatingly as he pulled out a few rogue bills and straightened them between his palms.

"My idea, my treat." He said simply, glancing up at Lovino when the boy had opened his mouth to argue. "You can get it next time," he smiled, holding back a chuckle when the Italian's cheeks darkened immediately.

"Like I'd ever get in a car with you again, this was an emergency." Lovino snapped, turning his head to the window when he felt his cheeks growing hot. He continued to stare at his reflection in the cold glass, barely listening as Antonio paid for the meal and threw his change back into the middle console.

"Here ya go," Antonio said, making Lovino jump when he thrust the frigid and moist drink against the Italian's turned cheek.

"What was that for, Bastard?" Lovino barked, turning his head around sharply and snatching the drink from Antonio's grasp.

The Spaniard grabbed the bag being offered to him from the server and placed it between his legs, flashing the woman a sweet smile and a kind "thanks" before rolling his window up and easing the car back towards the road. "You looked like you were drowning in thoughts," he said after a long while, letting the squeaking windshield wipers fill the silence a minute longer before adding, "it's okay to talk about things you know, Lovi."

Lovino's cheeks heated painfully as he sucked angrily at the thick, syrupy soda. "Idiot." He said simply, wishing he had the guts to reach over and grab the bag of chili from between the Spaniard's legs when his stomach began to growl.


	9. Chapter 9

Lovino's breath hitched slightly as Antonio pulled into the parking lot in front of the art building. He immediately clicked his seatbelt off, not waiting for Antonio to downshift into park before bolting out of the door and waiting with his hands jammed into his pockets next to the trunk. He wondered if Antonio would understand his prompt and stay in the car, he had spent enough time with the Spaniard and he needed his concentration for all the work he was going to have to get done, but his hopes were dashed when he heard the driver's door being opened and the crackle of sneakers on wet asphalt. 'Figures,' Lovino sighed internally, Antonio might have moments of lucidity, but by and large he was oblivious to non-verbal cues.

"I can take that in, you should go," Lovino pulled his shaky hands from his jacket and reached for the glass that Antonio was carefully pulling from his trunk.

Antonio laughed and gently shooed the hands away, "you almost passed out in my car, Lovi, I'm not letting you carry this in." He grinned sympathetically, "but you can close the trunk and get the trash out of my car."

Lovino was irritated at the implication that he couldn't manage carrying in the glass, his arms were strong from printmaking, even if the rest of his body wasn't, but in the back of his head he noted the trembles in the pit of his stomach, radiating to his fingertips, and begrudgingly admitted that Antonio was right. Grimacing to illustrate his exasperation, Lovino slammed the trunk into place before stomping around to the passenger door and yanking it open, pushing the now only ice-filled cup into the fast food bag and pulling the newly accumulated trash from the floorboard. He slammed the door, watching with a slight sense of satisfaction at the way the car vibrated and trudged from the side of the vehicle towards the studio, letting Antonio trail behind him a couple paces.

Lovino closed his eyes as he walked and tried to enjoy the crisp weather and lazy, soft raindrops kissing his red cheeks. Somewhere someone had a warm crackling fire lit, and the smokey smell that filtered through the air made Lovino feel like he was home. Not in Austria, not even in his old home in Italy, it was a place he didn't know yet, but he was aware that it existed, if only because this comfortable smokey smell reminded him of it. Lovino snapped his eyes back open when his foot hit a crack in the asphalt and he stumbled forward awkwardly, he held his breath in irritation when he heard a laugh sounding behind him, "you're really clumsy, huh?" Lovino refused to turn around and instead marched up the stairs in front of the building leading straight to the second floor. "Aw c'mon Lovi, I think it's cute!" The voice persisted, and Lovino was tempted to use his lead to his advantage and find a place to hide out in till Antonio grew tired of waiting and left, but his heavy work-load anchored his feet to the top of the stairs, and his awareness that the Spaniard would need someone to hold the door open for him. There was no way Lovino was going to risk that glass breaking again, even if it meant allowing that damn Spaniard into the studio with it.

"Gracias," Antonio said with a smile as he eased sideways through the open door and navigated expertly down the hall.

"How do you know how to get around so well in here?" Lovino asked, his sudden curiosity overwhelming his desire to have as little conversation as possible.

Antonio found his way easily to the printmaking studio and hoisted the glass onto one of the tables, placing it gently on the hard wood surface and wiping his hands together to mark the completed task. "Well, I visit Francis a lot," he said, "and it's always so hard to find you, so I've just gotten pretty familiar with it."

Lovino could feel blood rushing to his cheeks and he immediately turned away to hide his reddening face. He didn't know why he hadn't considered this sooner, it wasn't like Antonio just happened to know where he was all the time, he had to search for him, actively seek him out. Somewhere in his mind he must have been aware of that fact, but now that he was allowing himself to consider it, he felt his palms start to sweat. "Ah, well, y-you can go now." He stammered out, still refusing to turn his head and regard the seemingly ever-cheerful Spaniard.

Lovino winced when he heard Antonio give a light laugh. "You're not getting rid of me that easily," he said. His tone was kind with an underlying inflection that Lovino couldn't quite place, but it sent chills down his spine. The Italian finally turned his head when he heard Antonio's sneakers squeak across the rubber mats lining the aisles of the room, the Spaniard disappeared through the doorway to the adjoining studio before returning less than a minute later with the flat mop in his grasp.

"I can do that," Lovino argued instantly, reaching his hand out to pull the broom from the Spaniard's grasp.

Antonio yanked it back easily and side-stepped the Italian to enter the dark room, "I don't want you to hurt yourself, just let me do it, ok?" The Spaniard said kindly, stepping back when Lovino squeezed his way in front of the door and spread his arms out to block his entry.

"First of all, you can't just open this door whenever you please, I have coated screens in there and the light will ruin them," Lovino growled angrily, ignoring the look of confusion on Antonio's face from the unfamiliar terms, "secondly, I can handle it."

"But you're clum-"

"No I'm not!" Lovino roared, panting slightly with frustration. He waited for Antonio's face to change from benevolent, if confused, to angry or appalled by his behavior. His plan was working faster than he had bargained for, he realized. Never had he thought it would be Antonio's kindness that would make him hate the Spaniard, but in a way it wasn't surprising. If he was completely honest, Lovino knew he was a bit of a masochist. He had to be in order to impose such stringent rules on himself, but he hadn't considered that it went so deep as to push away anyone that would treat him kindly. His heart wrenched when it dawned on him that he had probably never realized it because no one other than Feliciano had ever regarded him with compassion.

To Lovino's surprise, Antonio only cocked his head to the side and sighed with a slight smile, "you're sort of a handful, huh?"

Lovino's mouth gaped open as he stared wide-eyed at the Spaniard. "Wh-what?" He sputtered, "I'm telling you I want to do it on my own."

Antonio nodded thoughtfully and licked his thumb, pushing it on to the Italian's forehead and rubbing gently. "And I'm telling you I want to help," he argued, laughing when Lovino swatted his hand away.

"Don't put your spit on me," he barked, rubbing the spot furiously with the cuff of his sleeve.

"You had something green on your forehead," Antonio explained, trying to push the Italian gently to the side while he was distracted, "it's been bothering me all night."

Lovino felt the hair stand up on the back of his neck at the thought about Antonio looking so closely at his face all night that he noticed a stray drop of emulsion marring his hairline. He was too lost in thought to realize he was slowly being inched away from the doorway, and he scrambled to regain his composure when he heard the sticky doorknob crack open. "N-no," He shouted.

Antonio jerked his way from the open door and stared at Lovino, "what's wrong?" He blinked, eyes widening when the Italian scrambled behind him and pushed him through the open doorway into the small, dark room.

"Fine, you can help, just don't leave that damn door open!" Lovino cursed, pulling the doorknob behind him and flicking on the soft red light when the pair were cast in darkness.

"I don't get it," Antonio knit his eyebrows in confusion as his eyes adjusted to the dim light, "you don't do photography, why can't the light come in here?"

Lovino stepped around the Spaniard and reached down to yank a rubber mat off the floor. "See those big square frames sitting in here?" He asked sarcastically, cursing when a tiny shard of glass sliced the tip of his forefinger, "those are coated in emulsion, it's light sensitive, they'll be useless if they're exposed to white light."

Antonio gave a soft "hmm," and grabbed Lovino by the belt loop, pulling the cursing Italian away from his work. "Don't just put your hands down there, let me clean it up first."

Lovino complied, if only because he was growing tired of arguing and wasting time, and popped his bleeding finger into his mouth. "You still don't get it, do you?" He asked with a slightly mocking tone, wincing at the sound of sharp glass being swept across the cement floor.

Antonio laughed and bent to pick up the newly clean rubber mat and shake it out. "Nope, not at all," he admitted easily, "but it sounds interesting." He held the clean mat out for Lovino to hold and the Italian took it without argument.

"I guess it is," Lovino shrugged, mind distant as he watched Antonio's arms flex slightly every time he pushed the flat mop forward.

"You still never told me, you know," Antonio said cryptically, starting to hum quietly as he pushed the glass shards towards the door.

Lovino stepped out of the way and knit his eyebrows in confusion, "what are you talking about?" He asked, frustrated with the Spaniard's vagueness.

"Why you do this." Antonio said simply, reaching the doorway and walking back to re-sweep every corner of the room.

Lovino crossed his arms over his chest and bit the inside of his cheek, "What? Talk to you? I have absolutely no idea." He spat, anger snaking through his words.

Antonio only laughed and shook his head, not pulling his eyes from the floor as he worked. "No, this, um...printmaking." The Spaniard replied, excitement in his voice at having remembered the name of the Italian's medium.

Lovino stayed silent for a while, only the sounds of his soft breathing and Antonio's delicate humming as he thoroughly cleaned the small dark room filling the still air. "Ah, I, I've never really thought about it." He admitted after a long while.

Antonio made a noise of quiet acknowledgement and lifted his head towards the Italian. "Is there a dust pan around here?"

Lovino snapped back to attention, "yeah, it should've been with the mop," he replied quickly, "I'll get it."

Antonio grabbed the Italian's elbow when he started to bolt towards the door, "let me," he said when Lovino turned his head around, confused. The Italian didn't argue when Antonio whizzed past him, opening the door just enough to squeeze his body through before quickly shutting it behind him. He knew the Spaniard was only being kind to win his favor and his blessing to date his brother, but he couldn't help be drawn into his, admittedly, mostly one-sided conversations. Lovino wracked his brain to remember the last time someone had asked him why he did what he did, but as far back as he could remember, he couldn't recall ever being questioned. No one cared what he did, as long as he wasn't bothering them with it. He knew it was largely his fault that people took no interest, he had a foul temper and turned everyone away, but it felt nice for someone to care enough to try and break the barrier, even if they cared for the wrong reasons.

Lovino's heart jumped when the doorknob cracked open and Antonio slid back into the dim room, dustpan in hand. "You hold it and I'll sweep," He said when he closed the door behind him, pushing the pan into Lovino's limp hand. The Italian nodded distractedly and flopped the rubber mat he was holding back into place in front of the light table before sliding to his knees and pressing the lip of the dustpan to the cement floor. Antonio swept in silence for a while, being careful not to fill the pan too much before allowing Lovino to empty it in the trashcan outside the door. "So Lovi-" He said finally when the Italian slid through the door for what felt like the tenth time and lowered himself to his knees to hold the dustpan again.

"Hmm," Lovino replied, slightly disappointed that the comfortable silence was being broken.

"How'd you learn about it?" Antonio asked cryptically, pausing from sweeping to laugh when Lovino shot his eyes up in anger. "What I mean is," he started when he caught his breath and resumed brushing the shards into the pan, "if you don't know why you do printmaking, then, when were you introduced to it?"

Lovino scoffed and put a hand up to indicate the dustpan needed to be emptied again. "Why do you care anyway?" He spat, "why don't I interrogate you for a change, why do you cook?"

Antonio cocked his head to the side dreamily, "I cook because I love it, of course. I love the smells, the sounds, and I especially like sharing my food with people I love and watching their face light up when they enjoy it."

Lovino shook his head in pity and slapped his hand to his forehead, "you would say something so completely idiotic." He groaned, straightening from his knees to his feet to carry the dustpan to the trash.

Antonio shrugged his shoulders lightly, "there's nothing stupid about doing what you love, in fact, I think it's the smartest thing you can do."

Lovino huffed and pushed the older boy aside to squeeze through the door and empty the pan. He sighed as he watched the glinting pieces topple into the bag, momentarily lighting the black plastic as if it were the night sky and not the interior of a trash bin. He didn't want to go back in the dark room, he knew the conversation wasn't over, and he hated himself for even letting it get started. He considered what he could say to get Antonio to drop the subject, he supposed he could just admit that he loved printmaking, and that's why he did it, but he had already told Antonio that he didn't, and as idiotic as the Spaniard tended to be, he doubted he would forget that fact so easily.

Shoulders drooping in resignation, he padded the few steps back to the dark room and pushed his way through the doorway. He decided he would answer as little as he could and distract the Spaniard by turning the conversation to his brother. He didn't want to use Feliciano in such a way, like bait to a hungry prey, but he was desperate. "Do you really want to know?" He blurted out as soon as he had clicked the door behind him.

"Know what?" Antonio asked, resting his hands on the handle of the flat mop and pulling them under his chin.

Lovino knitted his eyebrows angrily before scoffing and dropping to his knees, "forget it," he spat.

Antonio chuckled quietly, "I'm kidding," he soothed, pushing the dusty remnants of glass into the pan, "you wanted to tell me how you got into printmaking."

"Not anymore," Lovino growled back, annoyed with the Spaniard's teasing.

"Aw, c'mon Lovi, please," Antonio whined playfully, dropping to his knees to be eye-level with the hunched boy.

"Hold this," Lovino said with a sigh, pushing the handle of the dustpan into Antonio's hand and pulling himself to his feet. Antonio straightened up and watched, fascinated as the Italian lifted one of the large frames from the light table and readjusted the image beneath it before carefully easing it down again and heading to the door. Antonio followed behind, dumping the glistening dust into the bin and watching hesitantly as Lovino hoisted the new piece of glass from the table with a grunt.

"Are you sure you don't want me to do that?" Antonio asked, concern glinting in his eyes as Lovino trudged towards the dark room on shaky legs.

"It's fine," he grunted out, "just open the door for me." Antonio hurried to do as he was instructed, not wanting the Italian to carry the heavy load any longer than necessary. He stood in the doorway, somehow unable to rip his eyes away from the small boy struggling to slip the cumbersome glass into the frame.

Lovino sighed when he had securely situated the glass, his heart beat heavily against his chest from the exertion as he clicked on the light table and watched contented at the way the outline of the screen shone in a dreamy, white light. Antonio felt his heart skip a beat at the sight of the Italian's peaceful expression and leaned his head on the doorframe in wonderment. He couldn't recall seeing the boy look anything but irritated or angry, but the serene face softened his features and the dim light seemed to glow on his pale skin. Antonio couldn't help but think the boy looked angelic, as cliché as he knew it was.

"What the hell are you doing?" Lovino spat suddenly, jerking his head to the side and rushing over to push Antonio out of the way so he could slam the door closed. The illusion had been quickly shattered, the Spaniard observed as Lovino scolded him about the importance of leaving the dark room door closed at all times unless entering or exiting, but he knew he hadn't imagined it. He hadn't intended to discover anything about the older Italian brother, at least consciously. He had wanted to get under Lovino's skin, sure, but somehow the Italian was forcing his way under his, and he couldn't help but start to feel endeared to the boy.

"You're not getting out of it, you know," Antonio said suddenly, interrupting the Italian's ranting. "I wanna know when you started this," he said, waving a hand around to indicate the room. Lovino rolled his eyes and moved towards the nearest table, pulling out a chair and flopping into it as he stared fixated at the clock.

"Fine," Lovino relented, sighing as he watched the seconds tick by, "the screen will be ready in 10 minutes." He said as Antonio slid into a seat across from him, resting his head on his open palm as he regarded the Italian's turned face.

"Ok?" Antonio prompted when Lovino didn't immediately continue.

"I'll tell you if you promise to leave once it's ready." Lovino bargained, glancing towards Antonio to illustrate his seriousness.

"But Lovi," Antonio whined, pulling his head up from his hand and laying his open palms down on the table.

"That's the bargain," Lovino countered immediately, keeping his eyes concentrated on the time. "You've got 8 minutes left," he observed, smirking slightly when he heard Antonio let out an exasperated sigh. It was the Spaniard's turn to cast his gaze towards the clock's taunting face as he considered what was more important to him: spending time with the Italian or actually learning something about him. He knew he could just see him again in the morning, but he was feeling an odd attachment to the boy, he didn't want to leave his side, though he wasn't entirely sure why.

"Tell me," Antonio decided finally, he wanted to stay longer, but he was feeling tired, and having some kind of knowledge about the Italian's past was too tempting. He had a feeling the offer to be let in on Lovino's life was something most people weren't offered, and that knowledge seemed worth more than a thousand minutes.

"Feliciano's always been into art," Lovino started immediately, speaking robotically, as if he had planned the monologue for days. "Our grandfather was an artist of sorts, and he taught my brother to paint from an early age."

"Why not you?" Antonio interrupted, making Lovino throw him a quick glare. He hadn't intended for the Spaniard to interject, and now he was going to have to reveal more than he would have liked.

"He said I had no talent for it," Lovino replied quickly, waving a hand in the air as if the fact meant nothing to him.

"How cruel, you were only a child," Antonio said softly, resting his head back on his palm and he stared sympathetically at the Italian's handsome profile.

Lovino only shrugged, "it's not a big deal." He said, moving on quickly in order to downplay his early trials. "Anyway, Feliciano was a natural talent, it seemed like all he wanted to do all day and night was to paint."

"But that doesn't explain why-"

"I'm getting there!" Lovino snarled, frustrated by the constant interruptions, "you have 6 and a half minutes left, do you want to hear this or not?"

Antonio smiled at the boy's knitted brows, he had a feeling Lovino needed to tell this story as much as he wanted to hear it, but he was determined to make him tell it properly. "Of course I want to hear it, please continue."

Lovino sighed and cocked his head as he tried to remember what he was going to say, "Right, well, when Feliciano and I moved to Austria, our guardian was involved in the arts as well."

"Why did you move to Austria? And what do you mean your guardian?" Antonio interjected again, biting his lip as he tried to recall if Feliciano had ever mentioned his parents.

Lovino only shook his head, he didn't look angry, nor sad, it was an emotion Antonio couldn't place, but he knew his questions were going to go unanswered. 'Maybe another time,' he considered, watching thoughtfully when the Italian scrunched his nose, trying to remember where he had left off.

"Our guardian, Roderich, was an artist, well, more of a musician really, but it was a good environment for Feliciano." He continued, eyes glazing over as the minute hand turned into a hazy gray halo in the middle of the clock's white face. "Feliciano was busy painting a lot, so I would just sort of sit around-" Lovino stayed silent for a while and Antonio wondered if he had fallen asleep, he reached a hand out to pat the boy on the shoulder, but drew it back when the Italian straightened his back and cleared his throat. "Anyway, so they tried to get me to help with chores, but I was no good at it-"

"Cause you're clumsy," Antonio nodded knowingly.

Lovino shot the Spaniard an angry glare, "no, because it was stupid and boring and they were just trying to distract me so they wouldn't have to deal with me, and-" Lovino stopped, his mouth hanging open in mid-sentence when he realized what he was saying. He had planned to portray his past with as little personal information as possible, but it was like his body was drunk, with every slight smile or caring word cast his way by the Spaniard, he felt his hold loosening, and the flood of truths were becoming harder and harder to hold back. "And so," Lovino cleared his throat, turning from the wide-eyed Spaniard back to the clock's unfeeling face, "Roderich decided I had to find a hobby."

Antonio nodded his head slightly, enraptured by the story and wondering guiltily if he should mention that the ten minutes had passed, but ultimately deciding against it when the Italian continued. "Since Roderich was so damn arts obsessed and because my brother is naturally gifted, it was decided that I should do something in the arts as well."

"But your grandfather said-"

"Right," Lovino sighed, seemingly not bothered by the interruption, "I knew I wouldn't be good, but I did it anyway, just to shut them all up really."

"Did it work?" Antonio asked, he sensed that the Italian's barriers were being weakened, and he was desperate to catch a glance at the boy underneath.

"No, instead they just whined about how terrible I was." Lovino laughed dryly, "Roderich started me with the piano first, but I was God awful at it, I don't have an ear for music," he admitted, leaning back in his seat as he pulled his knees under his chin. "So then they decided I should try painting, but I could never figure out how to layer quite right, so all I ever made was mud. I could draw pretty well, but I was messy and Roderich hated the way I would leave charcoal fingerprints everywhere, so he barred me from doing it."

"So then, how-"

"Well, one day Roderich decided to bring Feli and I to an art exhibit. It was really boring, and he made us dress in these stiff suits-I still remember them, you could hardly bend a limb, it was terrible." Antonio laughed, face lightening as emotion slipped into the Italian's voice, the boy was losing himself to his story. The Spaniard doubted if Lovino even remembered he was still in the room, closely listening to every word the boy spoke. "Well the whole show was really dry, all landscapes and bowls of fruit, and, you know, just the ordinary stuff, but there was this one piece...I don't remember the subject matter any more to be honest, I just remember liking the way the colors were stacked on top of each other. I thought it was cool, the way they sat on the paper in one solid mass, instead of being worked up in strokes."

Antonio didn't know exactly what the boy meant, but he nodded anyway, urging him to continue. "I think I stayed in front of that print for hours, just staring at it and trying to figure out how it worked. When Roderich came to take me home I pitched a fit, and finally he managed to find out who the artist was. I remember thinking how mad he was at the time, that I was causing a scene in the middle of his sophisticated friends, but I think he might have been also a little happy-that I was-I don't know, taking an interest in something?" Lovino shook his head to clear his straying thoughts and carried on, "Anyway, the artist was thrilled that I liked his piece, he went on and on about how printmaking was so under-appreciated and only a few people understand it's beauty. So he ended up making me his apprentice." Lovino opened his mouth to say more, but then suddenly remembered he had fulfilled his promise and stopped, his mind quickly returning to reality as he took in the Spaniard's enthralled face. "What are you staring at?" He spat angrily, irritated that he had been tricked into revealing more than he had intended.

Antonio only smiled, glancing at the clock in mock surprise, "I think it's been more than ten minutes." He observed, closing his eyes with a grin when the Italian let out a string of expletives and bolted for the dark room.

"You better be gone when I come out of here!" Lovino roared through the thick door. Antonio chuckled slightly to himself and rose to his feet, stretching his arms out to either side in a stretch before padding tiredly towards the hall. He hesitated at the dark room door and let his fingertips trace the hard wood, 'I think I know why you chose printmaking,' he thought to himself, a smile pulling on the corner of his lips as he sucked in a breath. "Bye, Lovi, hasta mañana!" He shouted cheerfully, waiting for a response before shrugging and trudging down the dimly-lit hall.

Lovino listened to the quieting footsteps and before he could stop himself, swung open the dark room door and stepped into the hall. "Thank you," he shouted after the Spaniard, wincing at the way the words echoed around in his mind. He balled his fists at his side, cursing himself for his stupidity as he desperately hoped Antonio would think he was thanking him for the glass and the food.


	10. Chapter 10

Lovino leaned back in his seat and stretched his arms above his head, a quiet whine settling in the back of his throat when the tension between his shoulders loosened. He let his hands fall back to his sides and pulled his legs against his chest, his heels resting on the edge of the seat while his knees knelt against the table. He shuddered when the cold morning air blew through the slightly open windows, he hadn't meant to come to the studio so early, he had been working hard all week, coming in early and leaving late, and so he felt he deserved to sleep in. He didn't have any pressing matters to take care of for once, it was Friday, so he knew he had the weekend ahead of him to get his work done, but for some reason his body hadn't let him take the morning off. Lovino let his face fall to his knees and rubbed his tired eyes into his slacks. He wondered how long he could pretend he didn't know why he was sitting in the print room at six in the morning, how long his mind would allow him the blissful peace of obliviousness.

The truth was, Lovino knew why he was sitting there so early, pretending he needed to work on sketches. It was the same reason he had gotten up extra early in order to wash his hair and properly style it: he knew Antonio was going to show up with breakfast, and he didn't want to miss it. He hadn't allowed himself to expect anything at first, whether out of fear that the boy's psuedo-promise would turn out to be a lie or to avoid the anxiety that made him want to hide away when there was work to be done. Either way, he couldn't deny feeling something similar to satisfaction when Antonio had shown up for breakfast and dinner on both Wednesday and Thursday. He didn't dare consider it happiness, because it wasn't, it couldn't be, but it did suit him to have the boy bring him food. Antonio was a good cook, even if Lovino would never dream of telling him so.

Lovino lifted his eyes from his knees and laid his head sideways against them, staring thoughtfully at the blue autumn morning. He hadn't been talking to Antonio much since his admissions a few days earlier, but it hadn't seemed to bother the older boy. He blathered on cheerfully about school, his friends, and his favorite sports teams, and Lovino would nod his head or give an occasional grunt of acknowledgment. Antonio never let his topics get too personal, and the Italian appreciated that about him. He didn't want to really get to know the Spaniard, he didn't want to imagine what his family was like or his hometown, he didn't want to know what scared him or what made him happy, because then he would become a real person to Lovino, and that meant he was at risk of bonding with him, and eventually caring about him.

"Buenos días, Lovi!" A cheerful voice rang through the room, the Italian didn't flinch at the interruption, he had grown familiar with the pleasing timbre of that melodious voice.

"I don't speak Spanish, bastard," Lovino mumbled, trying to appear uncaring as he slowly pulled his head from his knees and rubbed his eye with the inside of his wrist while he yawned.

"What time did you go to bed?" Antonio asked, concern edging his words as he dropped his satchel on the table and flopped in the seat across from the Italian.

Lovino shrugged, uncaring and turned his head to the window when a powerful gust sent dead leaves rustling noisily from their branches. "Probably around 1 or so," he lied. He had gone to bed a little past 3, but he knew Antonio would act worried if he said that, and tell him not to push himself, and he didn't feel like hearing it.

"That's a bit better I guess," Antonio nodded thoughtfully as he pulled a thermos from his bag and started pouring himself and the Italian a steaming mug of bitter brown coffee.

"Thanks," Lovino replied when the cup was pushed towards him, he continued to stare, fixated at the lightening dawn as he sipped the warm brew. Antonio made the best coffee, he never felt the need to add any sweeteners or milk, he was tempted to ask where he got his coffee beans, but in a weird way he liked not knowing. If he knew, the coffee wouldn't be special to the Spaniard, he could make it on his own, and then he wouldn't have any excuses to get up early to meet him for breakfast.

"That's a nice color on you," Antonio said nonchalantly as he rifled around in his bag for the container holding thick slices of apple cinnamon bread.

"Mm," Lovino replied back, holding his breath in an effort to keep his cheeks from filling with blood. He knew the sweater looked good on him, the olive green knit made his hazel eyes shine with golden flecks of light and his pale skin look soft and delicate. It was a piece of clothing that he loved but rarely wore, if only for the attention it seemed to garner, but if he was honest, he had worn it hoping Antonio would notice. Antonio finally located his tin and peeled the lid off, pushing it across the table towards the distracted Italian.

"You like apples, right?" He asked, taking a piece of bread and munching it thoughtfully as he watched Lovino gaze at the feeble morning rays shining through the red capped trees. "They look like candy apples, don't they?" The Spaniard smiled, turning to examine the apparently fascinating dawn.

"You would compare them to food," Lovino scoffed after a long while, finally ripping his eyes away from the lazy falling leaves and plucking a piece of bread out of the tin. He took a small bite, his tongue rejoicing under the natural sweetness of the perfectly ripened apples and the warm, savory bran. He wished he had more of an appetite in the morning, he considered as he watched Antonio as inconspicuously as possible. In fact, he wished he had more of an appetite in general. The Spaniard might be annoying, but his food was fantastic, and Lovino knew he was putting himself out by providing him with freshly prepared meals. "Did you reheat this?" Lovino asked, feeling as if he already knew the answer as he continued to nibble the spicy bread.

"No, why, is it bad?" Antonio asked, brows knit in concern.

Lovino stared at the Spaniard's face, enjoying the lingering taste of clove and cinnamon on his tongue as he considered whether the older boy was pushing himself too far in his effort to keep the Italian from doing the same. "No, it's good," Lovino said honestly, "it's really warm, so I-I just wondered."

Antonio cocked his head slightly to the side and smiled, "I made it this morning, I'm really happy you like it."

"What time?" Lovino asked, studying the Spaniard's eyes for any trace of the dark circles indicating sleeplessness.

"Um, I guess it was like 4:30," Antonio said, laughing slightly, weaving his hand through the back of his wavy locks when he realized how excessive his efforts must have sounded.

Lovino didn't respond, his stomach churned with what he supposed must be guilt and he started to feel slightly nauseous. He hated himself for being so caught up in his own work that he hadn't even considered the toll Antonio was facing at being his personal meal service. "Maybe you shouldn't do this anymore."

Antonio stared dumbfounded, "do what?"

Lovino's mouth curled into a frown, he hated how blunt he had to be with the Spaniard, the man was absolutely useless at picking up anything subtle. "This, bringing me food," he continued, exasperated. "I think it should stop."

"But Lovi, I like-"

"I don't care," Lovino interrupted immediately, finally laying his quarter eaten piece of bread on the butcher paper covered table when his stomach flipped painfully. "I'm not going to be responsible for you getting overworked."

Antonio shook his head in defense, "you won't be, I always get up early to make breakfast, I sleep while it bakes."

"But you have to drive to get here," Lovino argued.

"It takes like 5 minutes, my school's only a couple miles from here," Antonio waved his hand in the air submissively, perplexed by the Italian's insistence that he get a proper amount of sleep.

Lovino felt anger bubble in the pit of his stomach and his brows drooped in irritation, "Fine. You can bring me food all you want, but I'm not going to eat it."

Antonio pouted and cocked his head to the side as he gazed at the fuming Italian, "c'mon Lovi, it's too early for this." He whined, wondering why the boy seemed to choose the most random times to be obstinate. Lovino ignored the Spaniard and pulled his sketchbook from the bag leaning against the table's legs. He let it fall to the table with a smack and roughly flipped through the pages, cursing when he pulled too violently and ripped a piece. "Don't be that way," Antonio leaned across the table towards the Italian, trying to will the boy to lift his eyes to meet his own.

Lovino dug his pencil into a blank page, jerking the dark lead across the surface in zig-zags, "it's going to take more than food to trick me into letting you date my brother," he growled through gritted teeth.

Antonio let his head drop to the table and peered up at the Italian's angry eyes. "I like bringing you food, it's not about Feli," he smiled lightly, hoping his sincerity would serve as a peace offering to the fuming boy.

Lovino stayed silent for a long while, continuing to rip his paper apart with his heavy sketching as he processed this new information. He knew it was dangerous to believe Antonio, he didn't know enough about the boy to determine if he was trustworthy, and it seemed odd that his motivations would change. It was most likely a trick, if Antonio could make Lovino think he genuinely liked him, it would be easier to fool the Italian into trusting the boy with his most sacred possessions. He had already conned Lovino into sharing a part of his past, he wasn't about to offer up his brother and his heart as well. "Bastard," Lovino snarled simply, it irritated him that his heart refused to stop beating heavily at the implication that Antonio enjoyed his company, even if he knew it to be a ruse.

"Lovi-" Antonio sighed, lifting his head back up from the table's hard surface and watching the Italian hesitantly before reaching forward and grabbing the boy by his thin, seizing wrist. Lovino jerked backwards at the sudden touch, the noise of his chair squeaking painfully loud across the floor echoed in his ears while he tried recover his senses. "Lovi," Antonio repeated, once the boy's wild eyes flew up to meet his face, "you're not forcing me to do anything, I bring you food because I want to."

Lovino wanted to roll his eyes, even if he truly was upset at the thought of Antonio putting himself out on his behalf, he certainly didn't want the damn Spaniard to know it. This was what was most annoying about Antonio's perception, at the oddest, and often the most inconvenient times, he would understand what Lovino meant without it being spelled out for him. The Italian wanted him to believe he was frustrated because he thought he was being used, but the Spaniard had seemed to know better, and it worried Lovino. He didn't want Antonio to start to understand him, that was one step closer to forming a bond with him, and even if the connection was already there, the Italian wasn't ready to admit it.

Refusing to reply, Lovino jerked his hand back and stood from his chair, stomping heavily across the room to grab a piece of plexi glass from behind the drying racks and thump it heavily down on a glass-covered table. Antonio sighed as he watched the small boy clomp around the room, piling his arms full of supplies and cursing every time something fell to the floor from his anger-induced clumsiness. "Let me help," Antonio cooed gently, walking over to Lovino's turned form and pulling a metal ruler from where it jutted out from the crook of his elbow.

"I got it," Lovino snapped, jerking his body away from the Spaniard too quickly and causing a roll of duct tape to clatter to the floor. "Dammit," he cursed, struggling to bend down with the pile of items still in his arms.

"Let me," Antonio offered, bending gracefully to his knees and swiftly scooping up the rogue tape.

"No, I-" Lovino argued, leaning over just as Antonio was straightening back up and retrieving an eyeful of soft, sweet smelling chestnut hair moments before the top of the Spaniard's hard head smacked him in the socket. "Fuck!" Lovino hissed, throwing both hands to the wounded spot and letting his apron, ruler and toolbox crash unceremoniously to the cement floor.

Antonio winced and massaged the top of his head before noticing the Italian's cupped hands and instantly forgetting his own discomfort in order to inspect the boy's injury. "Lemme see," Antonio encouraged, placing a hand on the Italian's rounded shoulder and turning his body towards him. Lovino shook his head slowly, he knew the Spaniard would think he didn't want to be helped, but in reality, he was a little concerned that if he removed his hands, his eyeball would fall with them. "C'mon, Lovi," Antonio persisted, grabbing the smaller boy's wrist and forcefully jerking his palms from his reddened face. Lovino blinked heavily when the dark shelter of his hands was removed, his blurry vision was cleared after a few moments, and he felt his body relax when he realized his eye had remained in place. He tensed again when Antonio placed a hand onto his forehead, pushing his stray brunette locks away in order to better examine his swelling skin.

"That's gonna be a mean bruise," Antonio fretted, making Lovino's heart freeze at the sensation of the boy's warm breath so close to his mouth. "Does it hurt?"

"Duh," Lovino spat back, a furious red blush filling his cheeks when Antonio let out a silent hum of understanding and leaned forward to place a gentle kiss on his eyebrow. "Wh-what the hell!" Lovino snapped, stumbling backwards when he finally regained control of his limbs. His mind buzzed in his ears, he felt incapable of forming a coherent thought, and so instead he resorted to his default anger.

Antonio was annoyingly completely unaffected, and only laughed as he dropped to his knees to retrieve the fallen items. "Kisses are supposed to make it better," he said cheerfully, apparently amused by the Italian's heated reaction, "maybe it's a cultural thing."

Lovino only scowled when Antonio climbed back to his feet and pushed a roll of tape and the apron into his hands. "Maybe it's just a pervert thing," he growled, refusing to meet the Spaniard's eyes when he clomped past him back towards the glass-covered table.

"Aw, c'mon Lovi, don't be mad," Antonio chuckled slightly, following the Italian to place the remaining materials onto the table.

"Fuck you," Lovino replied simply, slamming the ruler down on the plexi and uncapping the permanent marker, holding the cap between his teeth as he ticked off measurements.

Antonio stood awkwardly across from the Italian and rubbed the sore spot on his scalp. "That's so un-cute," he whined, letting his head lean slightly to the side as he studied the busy working boy. "Why are you so mad?"

Lovino snapped his head up mid-measurement to glare at the Spaniard, "You don't leave when I tell you to and look what happens, why do you think I'm mad, Bastard?" He snarled, squinting his eyes for good measure before throwing his head back down to his plexi and using the ruler as a guide to draw a rectangle on the slick surface.

"It was an accident," Antonio defended, shifting his weight from one hip to the other as he continued to linger hesitantly in front of the Italian.

"Well those accidents only seem to happen around you," Lovino seethed, refusing to lift his head from his work, "and I'm getting the feeling you're trying to sabotage me."

Antonio laughed loudly at that, unable to hide his amusement at the Italian's wild accusations. "What would I possibly gain from doing that?" He snorted, rubbing a knuckle to his watery eye as he tried to calm the convulsions in his throat.

Lovino gritted his teeth as he listened to the Spaniard's annoying laugh, "You say you want me to give you permission to date Feliciano, but it'd be a whole lot easier for you if I lost my scholarship and was sent back to Austria, now wouldn't it?" Lovino demanded, tossing his permanent marker forcefully against the plexi and throwing his hands to his hips when it bounced off the table and clattered to the floor.

Antonio blinked at the wide-eyed Italian's defensive stance, confusion knitting his brows. "Why would I want you to be sent away?"

Lovino dropped his hands to his side and lifted his chin to the ceiling, slapping a palm to his forehead and wincing when fingers swept across his bruised socket. "Dio caro, did you not hear what I just said?"

Antonio shook his head, ignoring the boy's exaggerated pose, "I like you, Lovi, I don't want you to leave."

Lovino felt the nerves tingle painfully in his fingertips, he wanted to stay angry, the weak morning sunlight was barely peaking through the chilly fall morning and he already had a black eye, but those words melted his resolve and turned his bones to jelly. Trying to look casual, Lovino leaned against the lithograph press behind him, folding his arms across his chest as he stared fixated at the black dot marring the plexi where he had thrown his marker. "Then why?" He said simply, hoping Antonio would have one of his rare moments of lucidity and understand what he meant.

"I wasn't trying to give you a black eye, Lovi, I swear. I don't know why you always get hurt around me." Antonio pleaded, stepping forward and leaning down to better observe the Italian's lowered face.

Lovino sighed and shot his eyes to the window, "that's not what I mean, idiot."

"Then wha-"

"I mean why," Lovino chewed his lip as he tried to figure out what to say, he wanted to know why Antonio cared, why he bothered liking him, and why he made it so damn hard to stay mad at him. "Why won't you just leave me alone?"

Antonio let out a small "hmm," and straightened up, staring meaningfully at the soft hair shrouding the Italian's hazel eyes. "I worry about you." He answered honestly, a warm smile softening his face when Lovino shot his head up in shock.

"I'm not going to give you permission to date Feliciano." He said sharply, a hint of anger tracing his face.

Antonio's smile deepened as he shrugged, "even so, I still care about you." Antonio's heart sunk when he saw Lovino's shocked face, he got the unsettling feeling that the boy had never been told that before, and it made him want to draw him into a tight hug, pat his hair and tell him he deserved the love he was so obviously regularly denied.

"That's stupid," Lovino said after a while, pushing his body off of the litho press and grabbing the tape from the table, pulling a strip noisily from the roll and ripping it off with his teeth. "You're stupid," he added for good measure. He meant it, Antonio had to be dense to care for someone that constantly berated and yelled at him. Lovino hadn't done anything to deserve concern, he had been selfish and mean, and if he was honest, he hated himself. It didn't make sense for someone to like him, because as far as he was concerned, there was nothing worth liking.

Antonio laughed and trudged across the room to retrieve the permanent marker from its resting place against the wall. "I am for a lot of reasons probably," he replied, holding the abused marker tenderly in his hands before tightening his palm around it and carrying it back to Lovino, "but liking you isn't one of them."

Lovino didn't respond, he didn't know how to. Instead he flipped the plexi over, pulling the strip of tape from his teeth and placing it carefully along the line he had drawn. "I still don't think you should bring me food," he said after a long while, jerking his toolbox open and pulling a pair of rubber gloves from its contents and throwing them on the table.

Antonio sighed and rolled the uncapped marker in his hand. "I want to, it makes me happy." He replied calmly, his voice settling back into its comforting, rich timbre.

"Well it makes me feel guilty," Lovino admitted, ripping another piece of tape from the roll and smoothing it onto the plexi glass. "You're going to fall behind in classes if you keep spending all your time over here, and I don't want to be the one to blame."

Antonio let the marker fall between his middle and index finger and fanned it back and forth, "I won't fall behind," he said sternly, "and I wouldn't blame you, even if I did."

Lovino sighed and glanced his head up to argue, "That's not good enou-"

"You can't stop me," Antonio interrupted, keeping his eyes on the bobbing marker, "I like coming so I'm going to come, you can fight it or accept it, but it won't stop me being here."

Lovino wanted to respond with anger, but as he searched at the Spaniard's down-turned eyes, he caught sight of something he had never seen in Antonio. He wasn't sure what it was, whether possessiveness or obstinance, but it frightened him enough to squelch his irritation. "Do what you want," he clicked his tongue in frustration, continuing to run his hands over the tape in an attempt to flatten any rogue wrinkles, "I don't care."

Antonio raised an eyebrow and glanced at the Italian, "don't you?"

"No." Lovino replied instantly, yanking off another piece of tape and ripping it between his teeth.

"Because it sounded like you were feeling guilty," the Spaniard pressed, letting the marker fall from his fingers back into his palm before placing it gently on the table.

"Maybe I was, until you reminded me of what an asshole you are," Lovino bit back, using his thumbnail to properly bond the edge of the tape to the plexi.

Antonio laughed, his wavy hair bobbing as he let his head tilt to the side, "that's too bad," he shrugged, "I was going to ask you for a favor."

Lovino felt his shoulders grow tense, he knew Antonio wanted him to ask what the favor was, and it was killing him not to, but he didn't want to give the Spaniard the satisfaction of successfully luring him into his plot. Lovino snatched his apron from the table and lifted it above his head, adjusting the neck strap so it fell comfortably across his chest before reaching behind his back to fasten the ties across his hips. He tried to avoid Antonio's eyes, but he knew the boy was watching him, waiting for him to break down and ask what he wanted. Finally he relented, when he was certain his pounding heart would burst through his chest, "well what was it?" He spat, frustration skirting his words.

Antonio shrugged and combed his fingers through his hair, "it's just that, there's this place a couple counties over, they're supposed to have the best seasonal pastries in the country."

Lovino struggled to tie the knot behind his back, his irritation with Antonio making his fingers tremble uncontrollably. "Your point being?" He prompted, growing impatient with the Spaniard.

"I wanted to drive over there tomorrow, but no one seems to be free."

Lovino shrugged, letting his arms flop to his sides in admitted defeat to the apron strings. "Why can't you go alone?" He asked, freezing when Antonio walked casually around the table and grabbed him by the pocket of his apron, twisting his body around so he could fasten his ties.

"I can, I guess, but I'd rather have company." Antonio admitted, pulling the ties into a neat bow and patting Lovino on the back when he had finished. "It's a long drive and I'm afraid I'll fall asleep at the wheel if I go alone." He chucked lightly.

Lovino glanced over his shoulder at the Spaniard's grinning face, the man might be laughing, but he got the sense that there was some seriousness in his joke, and as much as he resented Antonio, he didn't want the guilt of his death weighing on his conscience. Or at least, that was the excuse he could tell himself, and anyone else that dared to ask. "Fine." He grunted quietly, pacing forward a few steps to pick up a few small tins of oil-based ink.

"What was that?" Antonio asked.

"Move," Lovino grumbled, pushing Antonio out of the way as he resumed his spot at the glass-covered table and started placing the containers of ink next to his prepared plexi glass.

"But before tha-"

"I said fine!" Lovino barked, leaning over stiffly to pluck a palette knife from a nearby jar.

"Really?" Antonio asked excitedly, taking a step forward to wrap the Italian in a warm embrace, only to lean back with his hands held defensively ahead of his chest when Lovino held his palette knife out threateningly.

"Yes, but don't try that again." Lovino warned, picking a glove up from the table and pulling it over his left hand.

"Try what?" Antonio asked, voice light and cheerful.

Lovino shot his eyes over at the Spaniard before grabbing the other glove from the table, "guilt tripping me."

Antonio smiled knowingly and nodded, "Thanks," he said simply.

"Whatever, just go already, I have work to get done," Lovino snarled dismissively, rubbing his gloved hands against his apron before leaning over to pry a lid off a tin of ink.

Antonio turned back to his abandoned satchel and gathered up his things silently, humming cheerfully as he worked. "Hey Lovi," he said when he had finished packing and slung his satchel over his shoulder.

"What?" Lovino hissed when the Spaniard didn't immediately continue.

"I'm really happy." Antonio admitted, face shining with adoration as he watched Lovino ladle a bright scoop of red from a rusty silver container.

"Why?" Lovino asked exasperated, pushing the ink from his palette knife to the glass table.

"This is the most you've spoken to me in days," Antonio smiled, before walking towards the hallway and pausing in the doorway. "See you tomorrow morning!" He called cheerfully, waving a little before clomping down the hall.

Lovino sighed as he listened to the retreating footsteps and shook his hair out of his eyes, as much as he hated himself for admitting it, he was looking forward to Saturday. "Bastard," the Italian hissed quietly as he continued to diligently work.


	11. Chapter 11

Lovino sat on his bed, his back against the wall as he stared blankly at the sketchbook propped up on his knees. He had come back to the dorm earlier than normal that night in order to be well-rested for his inevitably tiring day with Antonio. At least, that's what he had told himself at the time. Now, as he sat on his bed, glancing at the clock every five minutes, he realized he'd come back because he had wanted to talk to Feliciano. He didn't know why, his younger brother was oblivious and probably couldn't offer any worthwhile advise, yet he found comfort in talking to him. Lovino glanced at the glaring red letters on the microwave and cursed. It was a little past two and Feliciano hadn't returned. He wasn't exactly surprised, even if he wasn't happy about the situation. Lovino didn't typically return to the dorm till well past 3 on the weekends and he didn't blame his brother for using the opportunity to go out and be social, even if the idea of it did irritate him.

Lovino tapped his pencil eraser on the blank page and sighed, leaning his head against the wall to stare at the ceiling. He had been so preoccupied with Antonio lately that he hadn't given Feliciano the attention he needed. He felt guilty about it, though he knew the younger Italian would never find any fault in him. In fact, Feliciano probably enjoyed being able to bond with people without his brother's interference, but the younger boy wasn't as concerned with forward thinking as his older brother, and that worried Lovino. He didn't think Feliciano fully understood the hurt that could result from having relationships fail, and though he knew he was partially to blame for that, he wasn't ready for the younger boy to experience heartbreak. He loved that Feliciano was carefree and trusting, and he didn't want to let him grow up and become aware of the pain the world had to offer.

Lovino shot his eyes to the door when he heart someone fiddling with the lock. He waited a few moments, tension vibrating in his toes and fingers as he waited for the knob to click, and finally scrambled to his feet to turn the lock back himself when the person on the other side of the door wasn't immediately successful.

"Lovi," Feliciano gasped when the door flew open in front of him, pulling his stuck key with it.

"Don't you know how to unlock a door?" Lovino asked, irritation coating his voice as he turned to yank the key from the lock. "Here," he said simply when he had finally removed it, dropping it into the younger Italian's open palm before guiding the hesitant boy in by his elbow and closing the door. Lovino padded back to his bed and dropped to the mattress, scooting back until he was against the wall and pulling the sketchbook back into his lap.

"What are you doing back so early?" Feliciano asked cautiously, watching his brother curiously as he walked over to his bed and pulled off his jacket, draping it over his desk chair.

Lovino only shrugged and started sketching, not turning his face from the page. "So where were you?" He tried to sound nonchalant, but his stiff voice betrayed him.

"I went to dinner and a movie with a few friends," Feliciano answered back, "is that ok?"

Lovino snorted and turned to the next page, his sketching getting more and more heavy-handed. "Do what you want." He said simply, his teeth tightening around the inside of his cheek.

Feliciano cocked his head and watched his brother for a few minutes, "are you mad?" He asked finally, disturbed by the aggressive way his brother was attacking his sketchbook.

"What do you think?" Lovino replied through gritted teeth.

"Ve~I'm sorry Lovi, I just-you're always working in the studio and I got lonely," Feliciano pouted, his voice rising an octave as he whined.

Lovino sighed and laid his pencil down, turning to look at his brother's concerned face. "I'm not mad," he admitted, "I'm just-" the Italian took a deep breath while he tried to collect his thoughts. "I'm just hurt that you decided to hide it from me."

Feliciano nodded slightly and Lovino felt relieved that his brother seemed to understand what he meant without a detailed and inevitably painful explanation. He didn't want his brother to be lonely, Feliciano feeling sad for any reason was the last thing he wished for, but he needed to know his friends. He had to speak with them, to observe them, and make sure they were good people and not just perverts out to abuse his admittedly handsome brother. He knew he couldn't expect the boy to let him protect him like this forever, he was growing up and wandering from the older Italian's watchful eye, and that scared him. He was scared for Feliciano's well-being, but if he was honest, he was more worried for himself. He was afraid of being replaced, of being rendered useless, and of ultimately being left alone. His relationship with his brother was the one thing Lovino allowed himself, and even that bond was causing him distress.

"So why did you come back early?" Feliciano asked again, padding over to his dresser and searching through the drawers for a pair of pajama pants.

Lovino closed his sketchbook and tossed it on top of his nightstand before stretching his arms behind his head. "I'm going on a drive tomorrow so I thought I'd try to go to bed early."

Feliciano pulled out a pair of plaid pants and laid them on his desk as he struggled to pull his belt from his slacks. "A trip? Where are you going?"

Lovino turned his body around and leaned back on his pillows, "like you don't know," he yawned, pulling his hands up to rub his tired eyes.

"Ve~I don't know what you're talking about," Feliciano whined, kicking his pants from his ankles and reaching for the more comfortable sweats.

Lovino sighed and turned his head to adjust his alarm, Antonio had never specifically said what time they were leaving, so he was going to set it for six and hope he was guessing right. If he was wrong he could always just work till the Spaniard arrived. "You know, Antonio wanted to go to this place, something about scones, I don't really know." The older Italian explained half-heartedly.

Feliciano gave a hum of understanding and waded into the bathroom to brush his teeth. "I haven't seen Antonio in a long time," he called through the bathroom door while he plucked his toothbrush out of its holder.

Lovino pushed himself onto his elbows and peered at the shadow of his brother cast across the threshold, "what do you mean?" He demanded, confused, "didn't he ask you to go with him tomorrow?"

Feliciano peeked his head out of the bathroom and stared curiously at his brother while he brushed his teeth "No," he replied simply through his foam-filled mouth, before turning back towards the sink to rinse out the minty paste.

"But-" Lovino wanted to argue, to think of a reason why Antonio hadn't invited his brother on the trip before himself, but his brain had stopped working.

"Ve~I can't believe you're going on a date, fratello," Feliciano yawned as he flicked off the bathroom light and trudged over to his bed.

Lovino pulled himself up further to scowl at his brother, "it's not a date," he snarled resolutely.

"But Lov-"

"It's not a date!" Lovino reiterated, refusing to lay back down until his brother agreed.

Feliciano paused in pulling back his quilt to catch a glimpse of his brother's determined face. "Eh? Ok, Lovi," the younger Italian complied, climbing onto his mattress and pulling his covers up to his neck. "Then I'm happy you made a friend."

"He's not that either," Lovino argued immediately, digging his nails into his quilt.

"But why do you spend so much time with him if-"

"The bastard won't leave me alone, it has nothing to do with me," Lovino spat, cheeks filling with blood from his irritation. He didn't know why it was so important to convince Feliciano he didn't have any sort of relationship with Antonio, though he suspected it had something to do with trying to convince himself.

"Oh," Feliciano said hesitantly, clearly confused but too tired to argue.

"I don't give a shit about him, I hardly know him," Lovino sensed that his brother had lost interest, but even as the younger Italian reached over to click off his lamp, he couldn't stop his torrent of excuses. "He's the one that won't leave me alone, he can go fuck himself for all I care."

Feliciano only yawned and gave out a slight "mmm" before turning over to face the wall and nuzzle his cheek into his pillow. Lovino sighed and fell back onto his mattress, crossing his arms over his chest as he breathed deeply in an attempt to calm his pulsing nerves. It bothered him that Antonio hadn't invited Feliciano on this outing, he knew there had to be an ulterior motive, but he struggled to decide what it might be. He figured the Spaniard might have wanted him to go in order to further suck up to him and be granted time with Feliciano, but then why lie about having invited others before him? Besides, Antonio would have to be extremely dedicated to his plot to not bother interacting with the younger Italian in any way until he had formed a bond with the older. It was just weird, and it made Lovino feel uneasy. He didn't believe the Spaniard actually cared about him, he knew the boy must want something from him and from this, and it infuriated him that he had no idea what that desired outcome might be.

Lovino let out a small whine of frustration and pushed the inside of his wrists into his eyes, flinching when he brushed against the slightly swollen socket. The skin hadn't darkened, thankfully. Lovino hadn't wanted any attention over it, not from strangers or his professors, and especially not from Feliciano. The less the younger Italian knew about his brother's tribulations, the better. Lovino let his fingertips brush the heated skin lightly, he could almost smell Antonio's shampoo and feel his soft wavy locks against his cheek. 'Stop it,' he chastised himself mentally, the mattress squeaking in protest as he turned on his side and shoved his pillow over his head. He shouldn't let this bother him, the only thing to do at this point was to confront Antonio about it and hear what the boy had to say. Then he could further investigate the matter and decide the Spaniard's motives.

Lovino shut his eyes and willed his weary mind to sleep, he felt that only a few drowsy minutes had passed when a shrill beep pierced the air. "Stop Feli," he mumbled tiredly, turning over and cracking his reluctant eyes open slightly. He stared curiously at the glowing blob of orange facing him, blinking a few times until the blurry image sharpened, and gazing even longer until the numbers he watched made sense to his dazed mind. 'I swear I set the alarm for six,' he thought to himself, slowly pulling his weighted body from the mattress and sliding his bare feet to the cold floor. He knew he should probably be moving more quickly, it was already a quarter past six and, despite what one might think, Antonio tended to be punctual, but he couldn't will himself to move at anything above a sluggish pace.

Lovino padded into the bathroom and quietly closed the door behind him before clicking on the light. He cursed at his reflection once it was illuminated in the toothpaste speckled mirror, his eye was decorated in a flurry of red and brown splotches. It was almost as if his face was celebrating the autumn weather he thought to himself wryly as he plucked his toothbrush out of its holder and squirted a generous glob of toothpaste on its bristles. Lovino flicked back off the light and re-entered the dorm as he brushed, walking lightly to his dresser to change his pants. He pulled on a pair of khaki corduroys and, after tugging his pajama shirt off, pulled on a light blue button up. Once dressed, he plodded back to the bathroom and spit the minty foam into the sink, not bothering to turn the light back on as he rinsed his mouth out with water and spit again. The Italian hesitated in front of the window on the way to his closet, he pressed his palm against it and then his cheek, trying to determine if the weather garnered a jacket. Deciding it was better to err on the safe side, Lovino trudged to his closet and pulled down a gray puffy vest, that way he could insulate himself if he was cold without looking like a nutcase. And, if he was honest, the older Italian thought he looked cool in it.

Lovino stuffed his feet into a pair of caramel leather loafers and padded to the door, not bothering to run a brush through his bed-rumpled hair before pushing through the doorway and entering the silent hallway. He stood hesitantly in front of his dorm for a minute, wondering if he shouldn't just go back to bed and pretend he had forgotten about the trip or had slept through his alarm, but he knew Antonio wouldn't have any problem in going up to the room to find him, so the effort would be useless. And, if he was really honest with himself, he was looking forward to the trip. He didn't want to admit it, not to himself or anyone else, but he enjoyed his time spent with Antonio. Despite how annoying the Spaniard tended to be, he had a way of lifting Lovino's mood, even if no one besides the Italian would ever realize it.

Lovino rolled his shoulders back, sighing at the satisfying pop that resounded between his shoulder blades before trudging down the stairs towards the blue autumn morning. He cast his eyes to the indigo sky, it was marred with flat-bottomed puffy clouds and a few faint still-shining stars. He hummed at the serenity of the scene and watched curiously as a slight evanescent mist escaped from between his pink lips. Lovino stuffed his hands into his vest pockets and shuffled towards the parking lot, kicking at the small rocks that littered the sidewalk. It was going to be a perfect fall day, the Italian pondered as he trudged to the edge of the sidewalk and craned his neck to scan the parking lot for Antonio's red car. Lovino crossed his arms in front of his chest and tried not to shiver, he couldn't spot the Spaniard's vehicle, but he wasn't sure if he should continue to wait outside or in the studio. Before Lovino had the chance to decide, a pair of warm glowing headlights turned into the lot and eased slowly over to the sidewalk. The Italian bent his knees to peer into the reflecting window when the car rolled up next to him, and when he caught sight of Antonio's beaming face he reached out for the door and yanked it open, refusing to meet the Spaniard's eyes again as he slid into the car and started fussing with his seat belt.

"Buenos días, Lovi," Antonio said cheerfully, keeping his foot on the brake as he watched the Italian pull his seat into a more rigid position. "Did you sleep well?" He persisted, determined to make the older Italian converse with him.

Lovino only shrugged and turned his head to Antonio, "can we just go already?" He demanded.

Antonio gasped when he spotted the Italian's multi-colored eye socket and down shifted the car into park so he could reach across the middle console and place a hand on Lovino's reddening cheek. "Wh-what are you doing?" Lovino sputtered, despite the throbbing below his eyebrow, he had forgotten the state of his eye in his tumultuous thoughts, and the Spaniard's reaction had shocked him back into awareness. "It's fine, bastard, just leave it alone," the Italian pulled his head towards the window, out of Antonio's reach.

Antonio dropped his hand and nodded slightly, worry still glinting in his eyes as he sighed and shifted the car back into drive. "I brought you some coffee," he said, motioning towards the drink holder with his elbow as he pulled the car slowly from the sparse parking lot and into the empty street. Lovino took the hot cup gratefully and sipped it slowly as he watched the warm orange glow of the street lights whizz past his window. The Italian gazed, hypnotized at the way the tips of the black, silhouetted trees rocked lazily with the gentle autumn breeze. It was so odd, he pondered, that a breeze so comfortable and tender could disturb the trees so deeply that they would drop their leaves in fear of its presence.

"How long is the drive?" Lovino asked when he was finally able to pull his mind from his peaceful dawn surroundings.

"About two and a half hours as long as we don't hit heavy traffic," Antonio replied, tapping the steering wheel lightly as if his mind was lost to an unheard song.

"What are the chances of us hitting traffic?" Lovino pressed, not keen on the idea of spending a second more than the two and a half hours he was promised with the Spaniard.

Antonio let out a small hum in contemplation, "I'm taking a lot of back roads so we should be ok."

Lovino slipped his drink back into its holder and wiped his tingling lips on his knuckle, "you're not going to get us lost are you?" He asked, irritation already tugging at his mind.

Antonio only laughed. "I'm a man, I never get lost," he teased, glancing over at Lovino to give the boy a quick wink.

"Keep your eyes on the road, Bastard," Lovino snapped, slumping back into his seat and crossing his arms in front of his chest when the back of his neck heated from the attention. The Italian sighed and leaned his head against the cold glass when Antonio didn't immediately respond, as uncomfortable as he was with his company, he had to admit that the drive was peaceful. Early morning and late night were the most beautiful parts of the day, they were so rarely seen, so rarely appreciated, but in a way it was that loneliness that made them so enchanting.

"This is nice, right?" Antonio broke the peaceful silence, he sounded as smitten with the autumn morning as Lovino felt, but the Italian didn't dare agree. The Spaniard seemed to wait for a response before growing impatient and sighing, "c'mon, Lovi, talk to me." Lovino didn't blink, didn't nod, and tried his best not to breathe, he didn't want to have a conversation with Antonio, it was early and he'd prefer to sit in silence.

Antonio gave up on the Italian for the time-being and hummed quietly to himself, lost in thought. "Hey, Lovi?" The Spaniard paused, but upon receiving no answer continued, "what's your favorite color?"

Lovino wanted to ignore Antonio, but it was apparent the boy wasn't going to allow him his peace so easily, and he was finding his stupidity hard to disregard. "What the fuck does it matter?" He spat, picking his head back up from the window and drawing his eyebrows into a scowl.

Antonio only shrugged, "I just want to know, what's your favorite color?"

"What's yours?" Lovino snapped back, he had meant the question as a retaliation, but immediately regretted it when he realized Antonio would have no problem responding.

"Mmm, that's easy, red." Antonio replied, "so now you know mine, what's yours?"

Lovino definitely wasn't going to answer now, or at least not honestly. He didn't want to imagine what kind of inane reaction the Spaniard would have if he realized he and the Italian had a shared interest. "It's none of your business," Lovino answered simply, feeling a little embarrassed of his immature response.

Antonio jumped to a new question, completely unfazed, "ok then, what's your favorite number?"

"That's stupid," Lovino growled, turning his head as far away from Antonio as possible.

The Spaniard nodded in understanding, "hmm, you might be right. Fine, then what's your favorite sport?"

"I don't play sports." Lovino grumbled.

"Favorite instrument? Favorite game? Favorite movie?"

Lovino shook his head at each one, he hoped Antonio would think he just refused to play his games, and while that was partially true, he was also steadily becoming aware of how lame he really was. He didn't have any interests, not besides printmaking anyway, and he certainly didn't have any talents.

Antonio sighed and mimicked slamming his head on the steering wheel, "you're killing me here," the Spaniard lamented, "why won't you just talk to me, Lovi?"

Lovino felt his heart beating rapidly against his chest, he suddenly understood what it was like to be that organ, trapped in a too-small space: he was his heart and his ribcage was this vehicle, and currently all he wanted to do was burst out of its metal walls and be free of the tormenting influences within. "Fine, you want to talk about something?" He spat finally, jerking his head to face Antonio when the pressure became too much. "Let's talk about how you lied to me."

Antonio's eyebrows knit in confusion and he threw a quick glance at Lovino before turning his eyes back to the road, "lied?" He reiterated hesitantly, "I don't know what you're-"

"Bullshit." Lovino accused immediately, "why did you invite me on this trip anyway?"

"I told you, no one else could go-"

"Bullshit!" Lovino cried again, slamming his right first against the side of the door, "Feliciano didn't even know about it!"

Antonio shrugged lightly and gave a small, half-hearted laugh, "well that's easy, it's because I didn't invite him."

"Well why the hell not?" Lovino pressed, anger pulsing through his veins at Antonio's cocky and amused face.

Antonio dipped his head down in frustration before straightening up again, "why do you always have to talk about Feli?"

Lovino's mouth gaped open as he tried to process what Antonio had said, "don't change the subject, Bastard, I asked you a question!"

"So did I," Antonio continued, undeterred, "why can't something just be about you? Why does it always have to come back to your brother?"

"It does come back to him right now," Lovino argued, pitch rising as his irritation mounted, "and everything doesn't always come back to him."

"Doesn't it?" Antonio asked simply, throwing the fuming Italian a knowing look.

Lovino sat silently for a moment, body trembling slightly as he processed the Spaniard's cocky behavior. The man didn't know anything about him, he didn't know anything about his brother, and he certainly didn't know shit about their relationship. "What are you doing?" Antonio asked hesitantly, turning his eyes from the road again when he heard Lovino struggling with this seatbelt.

"Fuck you!" The Italian roared, ripping the sash away from his body and yanking the door lock up.

"Hey, stop!" Antonio yelled, reaching an arm out to grab Lovino by the elbow when he realized what the Italian was about to do and cursing when the car swerved to the left. "Shit," he barked, pulling the car quickly to the side of the road when the Italian threw the door open and stumbled out of the car when it had barely come to a stop.

Antonio stared straight ahead, both hands trembling on the steering wheel as he tried to process what had happened. Finally he jerked his vision up to his rearview mirror and scrambled to release his seatbelt at the sight of the Italian's receding back. "Wait! Lovi!" Antonio gasped, tripping out of the car in his haste and jogging after the fuming boy.

"Stay the fuck away from me!" Lovino snapped back, speeding up his pace and balling his fists at his sides.

Antonio sighed and quickened his steps, easily matching the Italian's speed, "don't be stupid, we're thirty miles away from school, there's no way you can walk back." The Spaniard reasoned, placing a hesitant hand on the boy's round shoulder and grimacing when it was slapped away. "Lovi," Antonio tried again, taking a few long steps so he was facing the Italian, "Lovi you're being ridiculous," he said sternly, grabbing the boy by his wrist to hold him in place.

Lovino struggled under the strong grasp, "let go you stupid Bastard," he snarled, jerking his wrist back in a feeble attempt to break free.

"No," Antonio responded resolutely, "I'll bring you back if you're so dead-set on it, but if you back to school, it's going to be in my car."

"Fuck you, I'm not getting in that car again," Lovino argued immediately, his flailing movements ebbing as exhaustion flooded through his tired body.

"Lovi," Antonio sighed, growing frustrated with the small boy but refusing to give in to his irritation, "why are you so mad?" He pressed, staring the boy in the eyes as he searched for his answer in the glistening hazel irises.

"I don't hide behind Feliciano!" Lovino yelled back, chest heaving from the effort.

"I didn't say-"

"Do you know who's had to watch out for Feliciano all this time, Antonio?" Lovino interrupted, an unstable look in his wide eyes. "It wasn't our parents, and it sure as hell wasn't that damn Roderich," he continued not waiting for a response. "So fuck you." Lovino knew it didn't make any sense, he wanted to tell Antonio that his life had become Feliciano ever since his father left and his mother had died. He didn't have interests or hobbies, he spent his time making sure Feliciano was happy, and that Feliciano was safe and thriving. So if his own identity had gotten lost in the process, it was a sacrifice he had been willing to make, and he didn't need anyone judging him for it.

"I-" Antonio began, confusion tracing his features, "I'm sorry." He decided, not daring to press the matter. "Are you ok?"

Lovino nodded slightly, he wasn't ok, he felt stupid and boring. He was just starting to realize that it wasn't that he didn't want love, but that he didn't deserve it. He had nothing to offer to a relationship, or at least, the things he did have-like his temper and insecurities-were hardly desirable. Lovino was suddenly struck with the realization that his aversion to relationships might have been a defense mechanism to keep himself blissfully unaware of the fact that there was nothing in him to love, and it made him want to vomit, to cry, to hide away until his body rotted away to nothing.

Lovino gasped slightly when Antonio pulled the Italian into his warm chest and wrapped his arms around him in a tight embrace. The two stood that way for a while, only the sound of a few chirping birds and the rustling of trees interrupting the silence. Antonio buried his nose into the small Italian's messy brunette locks and breathed deeply, smiling lightly when he felt Lovino shiver in his arms. He didn't understand the boy at all, but he knew what it looked like to feel the earth shattering beneath your feet, and he couldn't stand by and watch the ground swallow the Italian up. He didn't mind being a lifesaver, especially if it meant peaceful moments like this one. After what seemed a few seconds, but in reality was a few minutes, Antonio released his grasp and lovingly combed the Italian's bangs back from his forehead.

"Are you ok?" Antonio asked again, peering into the boy's down-turned eyes.

"Fine now that you've stopped groping me," Lovino muttered in pretend anger, trying to hide the traitorous blush marring his cheeks.

"Do you still want to go back to the school?" Antonio asked, a smile creeping back into his lips when Lovino shook his head once.

"We've gone this far, I might as well get a damn scone out of it," Lovino sighed, straightening his shoulders back up and turning to head towards the car.

"Hey Lovi," Antonio called after the boy, walking behind him to the abandoned vehicle.

"Hmm?" Lovino replied simply, not bothering to turn around.

"What's your favorite color?" Antonio teased, laughing slightly at his own joke.

Lovino only sighed and rolled his shoulders, "red," he muttered under his breath.


	12. Chapter 12

Antonio hummed to himself as he lazily watched the yellow blur of passing fields of wheat. He glanced over to the passenger seat for what seemed the millionth time in the past thirty minutes and smiled lightly at the sight of the Italian sleeping in it. Lovino had fought a furious battle against sleep when they had re-entered the car, Antonio had pretended that he didn't noticed when the boy's head bobbed forward from time to time, only to be whipped back up when it's owner snapped awake. Now that he was nearing his destination, he suddenly wished it was another hour or two away. Lovino was sleeping so deeply, face nestled against the cold window in what Antonio imagined had to be an uncomfortable position. He had almost considered nudging the boy awake and offering to let him lay down in the back seat, but he was worried the action might embarrass the boy, and the last thing he wanted was another emotional outburst.

Antonio sighed lightly and rolled his shoulders against his seat, craning his neck in an attempt to release the cricks in his back. He had suspected the boy was lying about the amount of sleep he had been getting. Despite his best efforts to act strong and uncaring, Lovino always looked exhausted, and his quick temper indicated sleeplessness. Antonio glanced to the side again, eyes softening with adoration when he saw the corner of the Italian's mouth twitch from what he suspected must be a dream. He couldn't judge the boy too harshly, he hadn't been completely honest either. While he certainly wasn't as bad off as Lovino, the truth was that his work load had become taxing as of late. It wasn't his meal-times with the Italian causing it, though they certainly weren't helping matters either. Even this weekend outing was a farce, he'd heard about the scones in passing and had been mildly interested, but what he really desired was to spend time with Lovino. If they were in a car together, the boy would have no choice but to finally open up, and Antonio was desperate to learn more about him.

Antonio spotted a mile marker and cursed mentally when he saw he only had fifteen more miles to his destination. He didn't know why he was so obsessed with Lovino recently. There was just something about him, something the Spaniard couldn't quite put his finger on, and in some ways it was that enigmatic quality that made him so fascinating. Antonio had always been good at acting politely interested in the tribulations and stories of others, but with Lovino the attention was genuine. He wanted to know more about the boy's parents, about Austria, about whoever the hell Roderich was, it felt important to know, like the information should be innate. There was something so interesting about his temperament, he knew most people would just assume the Italian was ill-tempered and leave it at that, but to Antonio it felt more complex. Lovino was often irritated, but his anger always seemed directed, almost purposeful, only the Spaniard had yet to decide for what purpose it might be yielded. He often wondered if even the Italian knew.

Antonio shot his eyes to the side again when a sharp intake of breath caught his attention, he pretended he didn't notice when Lovino shot upright in his seat and quickly rubbed the small spot of drool off the window with the cuff of his sleeve. "Have a good nap?" Antonio asked lightly, flicking his vision towards the Italian and trying not to laugh when he noticed the way the hair on the side of his head stuck straight up, disturbed by the pressure against the glass.

Lovino scowled slightly and pinched the bridge of his nose as he tried to clear the blurriness from his vision. "I was just resting my eyes," he mumbled, desperately fighting the blush that tried to fill his cheeks.

"I've never heard of someone that snores while awake," Antonio pondered teasingly, not looking at the Italian but feeling the angry look focused on him.

"I don't snore!" Lovino snapped back, before remembering his earlier lie and slumping back in his seat. "And I wasn't sleeping anyway," he grumbled, sighing as he let his still heavy head fall back against the glass. "How far away are we?"

Antonio shrugged lightly and grinned, "shouldn't you know, if you were awake I mean."

Lovino was growing tired of the Spaniard's incessant ridicule, he knew he had been sleeping and he knew Antonio knew it, but he wished the subject could be dropped. "Fine, if you don't want to tell me, then just forget it."

Antonio glanced over at the Italian's sour face, "don't be mad, Lovi, I was only kidding."

"Well don't." Lovino shot back, jerking his head from the window so he could level an angry stare at the Spaniard's turned face.

"But it's fun to tease friends-"

"We're not friends." Lovino returned immediately, watching Antonio's features for any sign of a reaction, and becoming disappointed when he spotted none.

Antonio slowed down the car and flicked on his turning signal, "if you say so," he said lightly. "Anyway, we're here."

Lovino craned his neck to see the destination through the cloud of dust blowing from the gravel road. The stand wasn't much to look at, it was a long, open cement building. The only indication of it's use was a large field of apple trees positioned all around it. It was beautiful, though, Lovino pondered, at least in it's own way. Waves of mountains surrounded the area, sloping gently against the sky like giant bodies laid down to rest, and the well-worn building slumped into the ground, kneeling in it's crumbling foundation from years of use. Lovino stretched his arms above his head as Antonio pulled into a parking spot, bending his forearms behind his back as the lethargy of the area overwhelmed him. "This better be worth it," he warned through a yawn, letting his arms slump back to his side before reaching for the door handle.

"Wait," Antonio said suddenly, grabbing the Italian by the elbow and laughing lightly at the boy's angry glare. Antonio only shook his head in a silent apology before releasing the boy's arm and positioning the rearview window so he could catch a sight of his disheveled hair.

Lovino felt blood rushing to his cheeks when he glanced at himself in the mirror, "like I care," he shrugged, reaching for the door handle with his opposite hand as he tried to casually pat down his hair with the other.

Antonio chuckled and reached for his own door, "well I thought it was sort of cute but I didn't want to get yelled at later."

"Haven't you talked enough today?" Lovino grumbled, folding his arms in front of his chest from what he hoped looked like anger, but was really just a defense against the bitter wind.

"Not even close," Antonio laughed, glancing over his shoulder to throw the hunched boy a toothy smile.

Lovino rolled his eyes and shook his head at the heavens, "you didn't tell me this place was outside," he growled, tightening his arms around his chest when another gust of crisp autumn wind twisted the clothes around his thin body.

Antonio stopped walking to let the Italian catch up and dropped an arm around his thin shoulders when he paced next to him, "didn't I? I guess I just assumed you knew."

Lovino shrugged off Antonio's arm and quickened his pace into the crumbling stone building, at least the walls could offer him shelter from the wind, if not from the frigid outside air. "How would I know?"

Antonio trailed closely behind the boy, a slight smile working its way across his lips when he smelled the spicy and familiar scent of baking pastries. "Are you cold?" He asked, trying to diffuse any accumulating frustrations in the small Italian.

"I'm fine." Lovino replied quickly, relaxing his shoulders a little when he paced up to a trough of apples and found himself surrounded by lazily browsing consumers. It was a hard balance he realized, between keeping Antonio at a distance and trying to appear unassuming to those around him. If he was loud and angry, he would draw attention, but if he wasn't, the Spaniard might get the wrong idea. Lovino picked up an apple and sighed as he moved his fingers across its green waxy skin, in truth it didn't matter how he acted, Antonio seemed impervious to his foul moods. He placed the apple back when he felt the older boy closing in behind him and shuffled over to a barrel of okra. He realized that if Antonio was feeling like there was a connection between them, that they were friends, then it was his fault for leading him to that conclusion. He didn't know why he was revealing so much to Antonio, it felt good to share some of his burden, but the comfort was fleeting and quickly replaced by a deep sense of guilt and foreboding.

Lovino moved on to a table of oddly-shaped squash when he heard Antonio's shuffling feet, every time he heard the Spaniard approach him he was hit with an overwhelming sense of panic and disgust. His fingertips radiated with painful nerves as he tried to keep his face as neutral as possible, he hated that he had lied to himself and been put in this uncomfortable situation, because the truth was he had wanted Antonio to feel close to him. The truth was he had never really expected to find something in the Spaniard to hate, or at least he had hoped he wouldn't. The truth was, that for a brief moment in time, Lovino had believed that maybe it would be ok to form a relationship with Antonio, that maybe he deserved a happy ending, too. And the truth was, that now, because he had allowed himself to get to know someone outside his brother, who was obligated to love him, he had been forced to realize how unworthy of love he really was.

Lovino jumped when a warm palm enveloped his shoulder, "found something interesting?" He felt shivers run down his spine at the warm timbre of the gentle voice, and he blinked heavily, willing his mind to catch up with its surroundings. "I like strawberry preserves myself, but I've always wanted to try the jalepeño," Antonio continued, moving next to the Italian and picking up a jar of jelly from the large wooden shelf the pair stood before.

"I-" Lovino hesitated, unsure if he should pretend he wasn't on the edge of a mental breakdown, "Can I have the car keys?"

"Why?" Antonio asked as he placed the glass jar back on the shelf, "you're not going to go on a joy ride are you?" He teased, slipping his hand into his pocket and wrapping his fingers against the cool plastic of the fob.

Lovino knit his eyebrows in frustration, "I want to wait in the car." He said simply, irritated that the Spaniard was requesting an explanation.

Antonio gazed over the Italian's flushed face and his features softened with sympathy, "are you too cold?"

Lovino opened his mouth to argue, but changed his mind, deciding it was best not to press the issue. "Yes," he said simply, trembling for emphasis.

Antonio nodded and fished his keys out of his pocket, depositing them in the Italian's outstretched palm, "go ahead and turn the heat on, I'm just going to buy a few things and I'll be right right there." Lovino lowered his chin once in understanding before shuffling away to the parking lot. He jammed his thumb on the unlock button when Antonio's vibrant red car came into view and looked around at the sloping hills surrounding him one last time before climbing into the quickly cooling interior. He didn't turn the engine on like the Spaniard had instructed, he didn't want to draw any unnecessary attention to himself, and if he was honest, he felt guilty for using up the gas. Lovino tossed the keys into the driver seat and sighed, letting his head drop heavily against the headrest. He hated himself for being in such a funk, and he knew the self-loathing wasn't helping his situation. He felt transparent and ephemeral, like a cheap projection, everything he had ever known about himself was being thrown into question, because Antonio had been right. Everything in Lovino's life did come back to Feliciano, because taking care of his brother was the only purpose he served, the only thing he was good at. And if he was honest, he was terrified-terrified that once Feliciano matured, once he didn't need his brother anymore, that Lovino would disappear. He forced his brother to keep his relationships at a distance because he couldn't allow anyone else to take care of him, to take over his job, otherwise he would become invisible, no longer mattering to anyone.

Lovino shot his head up when a soft knock sounded at his window. He looked up at the Spaniard's smiling face as he gestured for him to unlock the doors. Lovino considered not doing it, he wanted to curl his knees up under his chin and sit there forever, speeding up the process of his dematerialization before the world could do it against his will, but something in Antonio's warm eyes made him change his mind, and he found himself reaching a trembling arm out to click up the locks before he had completely weighed his options. Lovino listened intently as Antonio trudged around the car, crunching the rough gravel under his feet, and tried not to shake when the driver's door was jerked open. "I got some great stuff," Antonio called to the Italian as he placed his items on the roof and leaned into the car to grab the two half-filled coffee cups. He emptied the cooling contents on the ground and threw the newly-empty cups in the back seat before reaching back to the car's roof and placing a pair of steaming mugs into the drink holder. "It's apple cider, they had samples, it's really good," Antonio explained as he lowered himself into the car, reaching his arm to the roof and grabbing a grease-splotched bag from its surface. He placed the bag in his lap and reached to shift the car into gear, "I got turnovers and scones and muffins and-"Antonio hesitated and tilted his head to study the ignition. "Why didn't you start the car?"

Lovino shrugged lightly and turned his head to the window, unsure if he could keep his mind's torments from becoming readily evident on his pale features. "I thought you were cold," Antonio pressed, studying the Italian's hunched posture as he waited for an answer. "Where are the keys?" He said after a minute of silence.

"You're sitting on them," Lovino mumbled, refusing to turn his face from the window's cold surface.

Antonio laughed half-heartedly and pushed his pelvis up, digging his hand around the seat until his fingers brushed against the cool metal. He pushed the key into the ignition and revved the engine before pressing his foot onto the brake and shifting into reverse. He started to move his foot from the brake to the gas and paused, "they told me about a mountain trail up here that's really nice to hike," he said, hesitating when the Italian didn't move. "Do you want to go?"

Lovino bit the inside of his cheek, he didn't want to go, all he wanted was to be back in his studio, back in a place where he had a purpose and things made sense, but he also didn't want to call attention to himself. He didn't want to give Antonio a reason to find out more about him and to discover how little there was to learn. "Do what you want." He mumbled after a while, wrapping his arms around his chest when the car eased into motion.

Antonio hummed lightly as he headed down the mountainous roads, searching for the wooden marker that was supposed to indicate the hiking trails. He knew he had made the wrong decision, Lovino wanted to go home and as oblivious as he knew he could be, that fact had been made abundantly clear. Yet, while he knew the Italian's desires, he had no idea why he felt the way he did. He couldn't decipher if it was anger or sadness or something else putting the boy in such a despondent mood, but he wanted to know the cause, and he wanted to make it better. Antonio flicked on his turning signal when he finally spotted the old mile marker and eased his acceleration as he took the sharp turn. He could understand why locals would treasure this spot, the well-worn road was littered with fallen limbs and golden beams of sun filtered through the red and orange leaves, making the dust glisten in the still air. It was easy to forget time and place in the area, the trees and hills blocked any sight of the roads, and the sound of the wind through the leaves effectively blocked the noise of any passing cars. "This is nice, huh?" Antonio sighed contentedly when he pulled the car into a grassy lot and down shifted into park.

Antonio sighed when Lovino didn't immediately answer and pulled his drink from the cup holder, blowing through the tiny opening before taking a small sip. He smiled lightly when the warm taste of caramel and spicy apples swirled over his tongue, "you should try your cider, Lovi, it's really good." He encouraged, lips drooping slightly when he received no response. "Lovi?" He tried again, the boy's face was completely turned from him, parallel to the window, and for a moment Antonio wondered if he had fallen asleep.

"Hmm," Lovino answered back simply, not wanting to be drawn into a conversation with the Spaniard, but feeling disturbed by his desperate tone.

"Are you still mad about earlier?" Antonio tried, continuing when the Italian didn't reply, "because I-"

"I'm not mad." Lovino said simply, grimacing at the way his voice caught.

Antonio nodded to himself, he was glad that the Italian wasn't angry, but in some ways he preferred the boy's loquacious temper to his silent suffering. "Then what's wrong?"

"Nothing." Lovino answered quickly. It wasn't completely a lie, he pondered, because if he was nothing, then his emotions must be, too.

Antonio sighed and turned his head towards the passenger seat, leaning his cheek against the headrest, "Lovi, I want to ask you something, but I don't want you to get mad."

Lovino scoffed and watched with fascination at the way the window fogged from his warm breath, "I make no promises."

Antonio laughed knowingly and took a deep breath, "I want to ask you this, and I want you to not take it personally." He watched the Italian hesitantly and upon receiving no acknowledgment, took the lack of reaction as permission to continue, "I want to know-I want to know if you're happy, if-if you're ever happy."

Lovino scoffed and whipped his face around to Antonio, "what is there to be happy about?"

Antonio tried not to laugh at the blotch of red on the boy's forehead, present from it's long contact with the window, and continued, "well, you go to a good school, you have a brother that loves you, and-"

"Is this supposed to be a guilt-trip? Because I'm not going to sit here and listen to a stranger tell me why I'm selfish, I hear it enough from people that actually do know me."

Antonio shook his head and had to fight the urge to comfortingly trace his fingers over the boy's soft cheek, "no, that's not what I mean, I'm not explaining it right." He sighed, slumping back against his seat.

"Happiness is useless," Lovino continued, unable to stop his speech once he had begun. "It's fickle. Anyone can affect it, anyone can give and then take it away. Why would I want something like that? It's the worst thing in the world."

Antonio listened intently, "I think that's really insightful," he blinked, studying the way the dash reflected onto the windshield. "But it's wrong."

Lovino rolled his eyes to the ceiling, uncaring. "Whatever," he replied simply, bored by the typical response.

"Do you enjoy your life?" Antonio started in immediately, ignoring the Italian's annoyed tone.

"I'm not answering that," Lovino snapped back, feeling a warm blush work its way into his cheeks. He was uncomfortable with the conversation, Antonio was digging too deep, he was too close to realizing there was nothing worth discovering.

Antonio shrugged, "it's just that, if you don't, then happiness has to be good for something."

"What the fuck do you know?" Lovino snapped, jerking his body around sideways to regard the forward facing Spaniard. "What do you want from me, an apology? I'm sorry that I'm not oblivious like you, I'm sorry that I don't think the world is all goodness and light, I'm sor-"

"I don't think the world is great," Antonio replied calmly, undisturbed by the Italian's outburst. "Can I tell you something, Lovi?"

"What?" Lovino snapped back, a little harsher than he had intended.

Antonio stayed silent for a long time, as if fighting with himself over whether he wanted to share his innermost secrets with the angry Italian. "It's just that, I-" Antonio hesitated, visibly recollecting his thoughts before continuing, "I do get affected by things." He decided, seeming more comfortable with his chosen topic.

"Like what?" Lovino grumbled, body slackening as he leaned his shoulder into his seat.

"Like when you said we're not friends," Antonio clarified, turning his head slightly to show the Italian his sad smile.

"Well-I-" Lovino stammered, he had been trying to push the Spaniard away, yet it still disturbed him to know he had upset the boy in any way.

"No, it's ok," Antonio laughed, shaking his head and sending his warm chestnut curls bouncing, "because I know it's not true."

"But I don't see what-"

"The thing is," Antonio continued, ignoring the Italian's interruption, "you can't let people and things control your mood."

Lovino knitted his eyebrows in confusion and frustration, "but if they're mean to you, then-"

"I'm not saying you can control their actions," Antonio clarified, "just that you can control how you let their actions affect you."

"You've been watching too many after school specials," Lovino sighed, turning back in his seat to stare through the windshield at the lazy falling leaves. "Life doesn't work that way."

Antonio hummed in understanding, "well I'm not saying it's easy," he said thoughtfully, "I guess more than anything I just wish you'd allow yourself to enjoy things."

"I'm just an angry person." Lovino said thoughtlessly, he had heard it so many times, it was an easy excuse to recite.

"No you're not." Antonio said simply, "you're just sensitive. And sleep-deprived and undernourished," he added thoughtfully.

"I'm not sensitive," Lovino growled back, folding his arms over his chest. In actuality, he realized he probably was, if only because his reactions were admittedly exaggerated to things most people would consider bearable, but he didn't need further reason to loathe himself, and so he chose to not address the issue.

"Try your drink," Antonio replied, deciding it was time to diffuse the touchy conversation and the Italian's mounting irritation.

Lovino complied and plucked his drink from the holder, peeling off the lid and blowing across the rippling amber surface before moving the cup to his lips. "It's good," he said thoughtfully, enjoying the way the faint taste of cinnamon and clove lingered in his warm mouth.

Antonio nodded knowingly and dug around the bag in his lap, pulling out a scone and popping it in his mouth before offering the open bag to his passenger. Lovino tilted his head as he searched the contents of the sack before reaching in and retrieving a warm, flaky-skinned turnover. The pair sat in silence for a while, both quietly enjoying the baked goods and each others company. Lovino felt better, he didn't know if it was the good food or the beautiful surroundings, he didn't dare admit it was Antonio's words, but he was regaining his solidity, and he felt he could make it through the day at least before coming to terms with the newly acquired insights into his life.

"Hey, Lovi," A voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Hmm," he replied back simply, placing the half-empty drink back in the holder and brushing his crumb-laden fingers on his corduroys.

"Did you mean what you said?" Antonio asked simply, offering no further explanation.

Lovino knew what he was asking, but didn't want to acknowledge it. "What are you talking about?"

"You don't consider me a friend?"

Lovino sighed and leaned his head back against the headrest, admitting that he cared for Antonio in any small way would mean admitting it to himself, and he was terrified of the consequences that would entail. "I don't know," he lied. It was a compromise, not as bad as saying no, but still not completely the truth.

Antonio let out a hum of understanding and nodded slightly, "I can work with that," he smiled, cocking his head to the side to study the Italian's handsome profile. "You ready to go on a hike?" Lovino nodded and reached for the door handle, yanking it open and shivering when a cold gust of wind whipped past him. He slammed the door behind him and folded his arms in front of his chest as a barrier against the cold weather. His skin was cold but it was more bearable, he felt a fire forming in his chest that wasn't present before, and when Antonio draped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him in to collect more warmth, he felt the ground should sprout with flowers from the sudden heat that bloomed around him.


	13. Chapter 13

Lovino panted softly as he trekked up a steep mountain trail, the course had started off enjoyable enough. He and Antonio had fallen into an amicable silence, and the gently sloping path guided them around beautiful sights of red and yellow capped trees and the occasional peacefully gurgling river. Lovino appreciated the isolation the surroundings afforded, he felt his mind could stretch to the top of the tall pines and for the first time in months, maybe even years, he could actually breathe. His chest didn't feel so tight, the knot of tension that he had grown accustomed to had loosened, whether from his conversation with Antonio or the relaxing mountain air, and he could feel his cold breaths seep into his chest and swirl happily in his hungry lungs.

Somehow Lovino had lost sense of time, and so he didn't know if the path had become more treacherous, or if he had simply reached his limit, but soon his limbs started to feel heavy and his chest burned with breathlessness. He supposed the air must be getting thinner the higher they trekked, but Lovino was determined to not pant like his body begged him to do. He didn't want to call attention to himself, he knew Antonio must already think him weak and pathetic, he didn't want to further that conception by asking if they could head back or panting like he had never endured any serious exertion in his life. Yet, despite his best efforts, Lovino had fallen a few feet behind Antonio, and the air that passed through his lips was becoming noisier with each step.

'Don't notice, don't notice, don't notice,' Lovino's mind raced. He had suffered enough injustices for one day, hell, for one lifetime. It wasn't fair, he thought, that he should be the one constantly falling apart, the one always suffering injuries and break-downs. He didn't know what great deed Antonio had done to deserve such excellent luck, but he resented that he seemed to possess none. He supposed it must be karma, Lovino had done nothing with his life to deserve goodness in return, so his retribution for years of pushing people away and regarding them cruelly must be terrible fortune. 'But you got to meet Antonio,' His traitorous mind reminded, making him throw his palms to his forehead from embarrassment over the thought. "Stupid," he mumbled to himself, shaking his head in frustration.

"Ah, what was that?" Antonio asked, glancing over his shoulder at the distant Italian and slowing his pace to a stop. "Are you ok?"

"Fine," Lovino snapped back, throwing his arms back to his side and wincing at how breathy his voice sounded.

Antonio studied the Italian's flushed cheeks and knitted his eyebrows in concern, "Maybe we should rest for a while," he suggested, kicking a few leaves out of the way before lowering himself to the ground.

"I said I'm fine," Lovino huffed back in argument, struggling to keep his breath as shallow as possible.

"I didn't say you weren't," Antonio laughed, folding his hands behind his head and leaning backwards till he was laying on the cold ground. "I just want to rest for a bit."

"What are you doing?" Lovino panted as neared the laying Spaniard and flopped to his knees next to him.

"The sky's nice today," Antonio replied wistfully, smiling sadly at the slight wheeze from the boy next to him. "Lay down and take a look."

"I'm not going to lay in the dirt," Lovino choked out, casting his eyes up to take in the hazy light blue afternoon sky. In truth he would have liked to sprawl out on the ground and take in the tranquil autumn atmosphere, but his lungs felt like they were on fire and he thought it would be easier to take in breath if he was sitting up.

"Are you sure you're ok?" Antonio said after a while, concerned by the way the Italian's voice shuddered every time he exhaled.

"Yes, drop it already," Lovino growled, frustrated that he was being required to talk. All his progress in catching his breath as casually as possible was ruined when Antonio forced him to speak.

"It's ok if you're not, though," Antonio replied calmly, staring unblinking when a collection of dark crows marred the sky's hazy blue face. "You know that, right?"

"Just shut up," Lovino gasped back, Antonio wasn't making him feel any better, he hated being the focus and desperately wished they could be silent again so he could fully regain his composure.

"I'm serious," Antonio pushed himself up on his elbows to stare at the Italian's flushed face. "I don't want you to feel like you can't be honest with me," he continued, voice level and calm, "you shouldn't be ashamed."

Lovino could have cried if he wasn't so irritated. He wasn't ready to admit his weaknesses, in fact the idea was appalling, he hated attention and he doubted if that would ever change. But the fact that someone seemed genuinely interested, even genuinely concerned, made his heart swell despite his strongest efforts to remain unaffected. "I'm fine," he rasped again, a finality in his words that made Antonio sigh and lower his head back to the ground.

"If you say so," he complied, stretching an arm over his head and staring at his tanned hand against the soft blue sky. Antonio let his eyes glaze over and watched curiously at the way his warm complexion mixed with the hazy clouds, he felt guilty that he had dragged the Italian on this trip. He had thought that all the boy needed was some time away from the studio, but now he was realizing that Lovino's issues ran deeper than just being overworked. The Italian clearly had some deep-seated insecurities, and he doubted his ability to help him work through them. Antonio felt an unexpected anger towards himself for being incapable of offering Lovino any real help, he had grown to care for the boy over the course of the last month, and his uselessness bothered him more than he would have previously thought.

"What are you doing?" Lovino asked after a while, satisfied with the way his breathing had finally evened.

Antonio snapped to attention and pulled his hand back down, pushing himself back to a sitting position before shaking any refuse from his wavy brown locks. "Nothing," he laughed, "I was just thinking how nice it'd be to comb my fingers through the clouds."

Lovino knitted his eyebrows in irritation and rolled his eyes to the heavens, "so stupid," he muttered in faked anger.

"I bet it'd feel like cotton candy," Antonio continued jovially before glancing at the Italian's pale face and feeling silent relief at the softer shade of red in his cheeks. "Anyway, you ready to keep going?"

Lovino scrambled to his feet and folded his arms in front of his chest, "I've been ready," he muttered obstinately.

"Ah, right, sorry," Antonio shuffled to his feet and stuck his tongue out in pretend embarrassment. If it made Lovino feel better to act as if he had not been struggling, then Antonio would play along, even if it did bother him that the Italian was so unwilling to share his trials.

"How much farther is it to the top?" Lovino asked, hoping his voice came across as disinterested as he had intended.

"Mm, I'm not sure," Antonio admitted, brushing off his knees before straightening back up and stretching his arms behind his head. "It has to be close, though."

Lovino hummed in quiet agreement before marching past the stretching Spaniard to continue hiking up the steep incline. The heaviness in his chest returned almost immediately, his lungs burned from deprivation the higher he climbed, until finally he was forced to stop on a small plateau off the path when his vision swam dangerously.

"You ok?" Antonio asked when he saw the Italian careen from the path and bend over his knees, chest heaving for air. Lovino didn't answer, he was too busy forcing deep breaths into his tired body. "It's the altitude," Antonio continued, walking over to the hunched boy to rub a comforting hand on his back. Lovino shivered under the Spaniard's warm touch, he resented that his traitorous body was forcing him to display his weakness once more, though he noted with a small amount of satisfaction that Antonio was panting as well.

Lovino cleared his throat and pulled himself straight, "I'm fine," he wheezed, his shoulders shaking from the effort. "It's just that," he paused, darting his eyes around to discover a reason for his departure from the marked trail. "The leaves," he decided after a moment.

"Uh, leaves?" Antonio stammered, tilting his head as he tried to decide what the cryptic message might have meant.

"Mm," Lovino nodded, throat hitching at the peak of each deep inhale, "they're all over the path, it's too dangerous." He finished when he had gained his composure, pointing towards the steep, red and yellow speckled path for emphasis.

"Yeah, but-"

"It'll be slippery," Lovino cut in immediately, "it's not safe."

Antonio hummed softly and looked to the sky before turning back to the Italian, an understanding smile pulling at the corner of his lips. "If you're scared, you can just say so." He teased, chuckling slightly when Lovino's eyebrows drooped in anger.

"I'm not." The boy quipped, "I just don't have a death wish."

Antonio nodded knowingly, "It's ok, we can go back," he reassured, gripping his palm on the Italian's thin shoulder and squeezing it once to indicate his understanding. Lovino tensed under the touch, he knew the Spaniard was only placating him, and it pissed him off. He supposed he deserved it, he hadn't exactly been the epitome of strength around the older boy, but he felt he still deserved respect. After all, he had survived his so-called impossible school program largely unscathed, and he thought that should count for something.

"Forget it," Lovino growled, shrugging off Antonio's touch and digging his nails into his thighs, "let's keep going."

"Lovi, don't be that way," Antonio scolded half-heartedly, "it's really not a big deal." Lovino didn't hear the words, his ears were full with the sound of his own racing heart, he knew he had become weak of mind, but he didn't want to be weak of body, too. Somehow this trail had become indicative of his life's tribulations and short-comings, and he was determined to prove that he could overcome them. It was stupid, he realized as he flew his arms out to steady himself when his feet slid backwards, slipping by the accumulation of slick refuse on the underused path. Making it to the top of the mountain would change nothing: it wouldn't fix his years of wasted life, it wouldn't make him more interesting or his personality any more redeeming, and it wouldn't make Antonio love him, or make him worthy of that love if he were to receive it. Yet, he couldn't make himself stop once he had begun, he needed to know that there existed something in the world that he could properly accomplish, and what's more, he needed Antonio to know it.

Lovino stumbled forward when his foot landed on a rogue root and cursed when his feet slid out from beneath him. "Careful," Antonio laughed, grabbing the Italian by his elbow before he could hit the ground and hoisting him back up. Lovino's ears burned as he stood still, eyes facing up the rest of the steep incline while his body caught up to his mind. "What's the rush?" Antonio prodded, concerned with the boy's sudden silence.

"I want to see the view," Lovino wheezed, refusing to regard the Spaniard's worried face.

"Well look around then," Antonio smiled, pulling on the Italian's soft sleeve in an attempt to catch his attention. "The view's good here, we don't have to go to the top to see it."

Lovino didn't blink, he didn't nod or sigh, he wasn't going to give into Antonio. He could take care of himself, he had for years, and he was determined to prove it. He wasn't entirely sure why it was so important, except that he wanted the Spaniard to know he did possess positive qualities. He wasn't just whiny and depressed and self-loathing, he was also obstinate and largely self-sufficient, even if the latter had been acquired more from necessity than choice.

Lovino took one last deep breath and started up the hill again, gritting his teeth against the burning in his lungs. Some part of him wished he could acquire Antonio's devotion in the normal ways, by doing kind things and being generally affectionate, but he couldn't let his guard down long enough to act that way. He couldn't escape his own head, and what's more, he had already ruined his chances at a normal relationship. He had blown up in front of the Spaniard too many times, had been too revealing, too emotional and needy, he knew Antonio had to think of him more as a charity case than a person worth pursuing. And so he hated the way the Spaniard would smile at him sympathetically, or the way he would pat his shoulder and speak reassuring words. It made Lovino's desires stronger for the thing he could never have.

Lovino felt his eyes burning and cursed mentally, he was incapable of doing anything correctly. He had been trying to show Antonio that he wasn't just a pathetic, blubbering sob story, and in the process had worked himself to the edge of another collapse. Lovino had to consider the idea that he wasn't as strong as he had once thought, that Antonio had been correct in repeatedly calling him sensitive. He understood that the Spaniard hadn't meant it as an insult, yet it had felt like one all the same. His mother's own delicate heart had ultimately been the cause of her downfall, and as much as Lovino loved her, he didn't want to be like her, and he had worked his whole life to become someone completely different. But now, as he reached the top of the treacherous trail, his lungs screaming for the oxygen that couldn't pass quickly enough through his gaping mouth, he realized his genetics were something that he couldn't escape, and it shook him to his core.

"It's beautiful," Antonio's gentle voice sounded close to Lovino's ear, making the Italian jump from the unexpected noise. He hadn't noticed the boy standing closely behind him, watching to make sure he didn't stumble or fall, but it comforted him to know he had been there. "Isn't it?" Antonio prodded, panting slightly from the high altitude as he stretched his arms over his head and stared squinting at the soft white sun.

It took a minute for Lovino to realize what the Spaniard was going on about, before he noticed the ground beneath his feet had leveled out and the spiraling path had drawn to an end. He glanced to Antonio and then to the edge of the steep cliff before padding over to gaze at the wavering green tips of the scattered pines. The gentle autumn breeze ruffled through his soft hair, pushing itself around his body like a chilly embrace. He understood, as he stared at the hazy gray silhouette of the distant mountains sloping gently against the pale blue sky, how someone could be inspired to throw themselves into the arms of the welcoming autumn wind. If the earth was caving in around your feet, then wasn't the best option to cast yourself into the sky? Lovino understood how someone could feel that way, even if he didn't agree. He clenched and unclenched his vibrating palms, chest heaving as he thought about the way his mother's hair must have swirled around her thin neck, the way it must have felt like flying.

"Let's go back," Lovino said suddenly, stumbling back from the edge of the cliff and over to the skyward-facing Spaniard.

"What?" Antonio asked, pulling his arms back to his sides and lowering his vision to the Italian's pale face. "We just got here," he laughed half-heartedly, tilting his head at the fickle boy.

Lovino didn't respond, his eyes were stinging from the effort to push breath into his lungs, but his chest felt heavy, like all his burdens had nestled into his breast, and the oxygen couldn't enter quickly enough to clear them. "Are you ok?" Antonio asked, grabbing the Italian by the shoulders and trying to force him into a kneeling position.

"Fine," Lovino squeaked out, wincing inwardly at the weakness in his voice. A dark vignette was edging into the corners of his vision and the surroundings faded into black and white, the image flickering as if he was watching the events unfold on a television with bad reception. Lovino lost all association with his body, he didn't feel it when Antonio slipped a strong arm and his back and eased him into a laying position, he didn't hear the soft coos of comfort escaping from the Spaniard's mouth, or the way he pulled his limp body into his chest and lovingly combed his messy tendrils. All he could do was stare unblinking at the quickly darkening scenery around him.

"Breathe," Antonio whispered affectionately into the unresponsive boy's ear, "just breathe mi amor." He rocked the Italian's body softly, trying to encourage the boy's deprived lungs to fill with air. He smiled faintly when he felt Lovino's lithe fingers weakly grasp his sleeve. He wanted so badly to show the boy that he was important, that he mattered to him, but he seemed to only embarrass the Italian and unconsciously push him away. It was only in moments like these, when Lovino's barriers were momentarily demolished, that he could sense the beautiful person underneath. It made his heart swell inside his chest to think how soft the Italian's face looked when he thought no one was watching, or how lovingly he regarded life around him, Antonio wanted to spend every second with the boy so he would never miss those rare slips.

Lovino snapped back to consciousness with a sharp, shuddering breath. The darkness in his vision slowly cleared, replaced with a dull throbbing in the back of his head. He tried to remember what happened as feeling returned to his heavy limbs, he looked down at his cradled body, trying to recall the person that belonged to those soft, tanned hands. Finally his mind cleared and he leaned back, his head lolling a little too heavily from his still feeble muscle control. "What," he started clearing his throat when his voice came out as a squeak, "what are you doing?" he tried again, pushing his elbow against Antonio's muscular chest in an attempt to be released.

Antonio complied and lowered the boy out of his lap, still holding a hand to his spine to avoid him falling backwards. "You were about to pass out," He explained hesitantly, unsure if he should be truthful at the risk of disturbing Lovino's ego.

Lovino only sighed and slumped forward, drawing his hands to his face to softly massage his pulsing temples. "Well I'm fine now, so you can leave me alone," he grumbled, jerking his back forward to escape Antonio's touch.

Antonio leaned back on his heels and sighed, "we should go back to the car, you probably need some water."

Lovino nodded in silent agreement, it felt like it had been hours since his apple cider, and he was suddenly filled with an unbearable need for liquid. He placed his palms flat on the ground, pulling a heel under him and slowly hoisting himself up. The earth tilted almost immediately and he lowered himself back down, pausing there as he tried to regain his bearings. "Let me carry you," Antonio jumped in immediately, kneeling down in front of the Italian in an offer to hoist the boy onto his back.

Lovino knit his eyebrows in anger and scoffed, "no way in hell," he spat, wincing at the way his stomach churned from the pressure in his head.

"C'mon Lovi, just-"

"I said no!" Lovino snapped back, leveling an angry glare at the Spaniard's turned head.

Antonio sighed and straightened up, turning to regard the squatting Italian. "Lovi," he began, pausing to squint at the distant mountains, "do you hate me?" He asked finally, a calm smile flickering across his features before he glanced back down at the boy's gaping face.

Lovino only shrugged, his hesitant posture enough to make the answer obvious. Antonio nodded knowingly and cocked his head to the side, "then why can't I carry you down?"

Lovino felt a warm blush work it's way into his cheeks, he knew he couldn't answer truthfully. He didn't hate Antonio, rather he wanted to impress the boy, to show him he could be strong. And if he was honest, a part of him enjoyed the discomfort, because a rarely recognized masochistic streak reminded him that if he was in pain, he was alive. And if he was alive then he wasn't like his mother, no matter the countless number of similarities between them.

"Lovi?" Antonio prodded again, unsatisfied by the boy's silent response.

"What?" Lovino snapped back, irritated by the uncomfortable interrogation.

Antonio laughed half-heartedly at the outburst and lowered himself to his knees so he could stare into the Italian's eyes. "Do you hate yourself?" He breathed when he was certain he had regained the boy's attention.

Lovino's heart froze at the words, "n-no," he sputtered out before he had the chance to consider answering otherwise. He did hate himself, he felt the fact was obvious, and it frustrated him that Antonio would try to force him into admitting it.

"Then why do you insist on torturing yourself?" Antonio pressed, staring sympathetically into Lovino's soft hazel eyes.

Lovino's mind was filled instantly with a number of honest answers, none that he would ever consider offering to the concerned Spaniard. He didn't understand why these were questions worth asking, because he didn't find it possible that Antonio could see him as anything but a useless crybaby. The only thing he was truly apt at was living, something that came so easily to normal people, to Lovino had become a chore. He could suffer an untold amount of injustices, and while they had certainly broken down his mind and possible even squandered his personality, his body would continue on. He forced lungs to inhale, and his eyes to blink, he made himself eat, even when it felt useless and uncomfortable to do so. Sometimes he thought it would be easier to be a robot, the maintenance would be less complicated and people would expect the coldness with which he regarded them. Then he could carry on, living because his mother didn't, and taking care of Feliciano because his parents never had the chance.

So if he unconsciously tortured himself, it was because a part of him thought he deserved it. He offered nothing to the world, instead all he could do was take: take the resources that he required for living, the love that some unfortunate oblivious souls had given him, and the space that some more worthwhile person could be filling. He deserved punishment for his crime of believing he was worth keeping around.

"I'm not, I mean, I don't," Lovino said after a minute of silence.

"What-"

"I'm fine." Lovino interrupted, wincing inwardly at his lame excuse.

"You're not," Antonio said simply, not leaving room for argument. "And you're never going to be if you don't let people help you."

Lovino sensed Antonio was talking about more than just this isolated incident, and his face felt numb from embarrassment. "I'm fine," He repeated, voice quiet but firm.

Antonio sighed and reached a hand forward, gently brushing the hair from Lovino's pale forehead. "You don't hate me, right?" Lovino sighed and rolled his eyes, tilting his chin to the side in a half shake. Antonio smiled lightly and nodded, "ok then, let me help you."

Lovino turned his eyes to the ground, pretending he didn't notice when Antonio turned around again in an offer to lift him onto his back. He was scared to let Antonio help him, because if he let him in this once, then who's to say it wouldn't happen again. It was a catch 22, Lovino realized. The more he let the Spaniard in, the more he found it unfathomable to imagine a life without him in, but he knew the opposite would be true for Antonio. If the man was allowed to sneak past the Italian's heavily guarded barriers, he would realize just how empty Lovino really was, and then he would be unable to imagine a life with him.

"Lovi?" Antonio asked, peering over his shoulder to study the boy's stressed features.

Lovino shook his head slightly from side to side, "just go without me," he said so softly it was barely audible through the rustling of the brittle leaves.

Antonio hummed in understanding and turned his head back around, "take all the time you need, but I'm not going anywhere till you're with me."

Lovino's ears buzzed as he stared at the soft contours of Antonio's back. He knew the Spaniard wasn't lying, though he didn't know why. Antonio wasn't going to leave unless Lovino was with him, and so when he finally reached his hands across the boy's strong shoulders and allowed his legs to be hoisted up by his sleek, muscular arms, he found he didn't feel as guilty as he might have. The decision had been taken out of his hands, and so he could allow himself to enjoy the brief contact.

Antonio didn't speak as he carefully navigated back down the steep trails. His heart had swelled in his chest when Lovino had finally given in to him and allowed himself to be vulnerable, it was a small step, he knew, but compared to his past interactions with the Italian, it felt that one step had carried him a mile. "Antonio?" A soft voice sounded. He started slightly, disturbed by the sudden interruption to Lovino's even breathing and the occasional crackle of dead leaves under his feet.

"Hmm?" He breathed, smiling gently when he felt Lovino nuzzle his face into the nape of his neck.

"I'm not fine," Lovino said simply, his words so quiet that they were all but lost to the still autumn atmosphere.


	14. Chapter 14

Antonio breathed as shallowly as possible, listening intently to the crunching footsteps sounding a couple feet back for any pauses or hesitation. Lovino had insisted he was able to walk again when they had neared the base of the mountain, and, seeing as they weren't far from the car, Antonio had begrudgingly complied, concerned about what might happen if he wounded the volatile boy's ego any more than he already had. He couldn't quite understand why it was so important to Lovino to appear invulnerable, but he couldn't shake the feeling that it was partially his fault. He hadn't meant to make himself out to be a hero, swooping in to rescue the defenseless damsel in distress, but he knew he was most likely coming off that way.

In truth, Antonio was no more ready to discuss his weaknesses and past tribulations with Lovino than the Italian was to share his own. With most people it didn't matter, they thought Antonio was naturally jovial and kind, and that was enough, but with Lovino things were different. The boy didn't take anything for granted, and Antonio appreciated that in him, even if it did drive him a bit crazy. Lovino was able to pick up on non-verbal cues, a skill that Antonio had knowingly never completely possessed, but the talent was rendered useless because the boy didn't believe what he observed. The Spaniard had realized that showing Lovino affection wasn't enough to comfort him, he had to tell him he cared, tell him he enjoyed his company and that he thought him worth spending time with. Lovino didn't trust people, it was something Antonio had come to realize many days ago, but it still hurt him that he was lumped into the same category as the strangers the Italian encountered. He felt he should be different, that he should mean more, but he realized it might just be him imposing his blossoming feelings on the boy.

"How you holdin' up?" Antonio called, not bothering to look back at the glare he knew he was receiving.

"Fine," a weak voice sounded, anger halfheartedly applied to its tone.

Antonio sighed and lifted his eyes to the graying skies, Lovino had picked up that litany shortly after he had finally confessed everything wasn't alright in his world. It was ok though, Antonio hadn't expected Lovino to divulge everything to him immediately, even if he had hoped it might be that easy. The Italian had given up more of himself than he probably realized with his short admission. Antonio no longer felt crazy, for one. He had always sensed that Lovino's anger was just a tool to distance himself from people, but now he knew it for certain. The hard part would be finding out why Lovino felt the need to be unsociable, what he was so scared of losing. But it was encouraging to know that even if it was for one brief moment, for one fleeting second, the Italian had felt comfortable enough with Antonio to give a piece of himself away.

Antonio fished his keys out of his pocket when his car came into view and unlocked the doors, shuffling around to the passenger side first to hold the door open for the lagging Italian. He turned to stare expectantly at his companion, smiling slightly with sympathy when he saw the boy's pasty white face and hunched posture. He wasn't sure how to regard Lovino anymore, he didn't know if it was would be more damaging to pretend nothing had happened or to encourage the Italian to expand upon his confession.

"Don't do that," Lovino mumbled, folding his arms in front of his chest to distract from his dragging feet.

"Do what?" Antonio asked innocently, fighting the urge to ruffle the sour-faced Italian's hair when he reached the side of the car and stared up bitterly into his shining green eyes.

"This," Lovino snarled, pushing Antonio's hand away from the car handle and pushing the door closed with his body.

Antonio tilted his head in confusion, "ah, you don't want me opening the door for you?"

Lovino sighed deeply and shook his head, mumbling curses under his breath, "Don't," he started, discernibly irritated at being forced to spell out his discomforts to the older boy, "don't treat me like a girl."

Antonio stayed silently for a moment, gazing intently at the Italian's serious face before bursting out in a deep belly laugh. "I-I'm sorry," he choked out between chuckles, disturbed by the way Lovino's face reddened with a combination of embarrassment and anger, but unable to squelch the audible enjoyment projecting from his throat.

Lovino balled his fists at his side, he liked watching the way Antonio's soft curls bounced when he laughed, but not when he was the source of the amusement. "Fuck you," he growled, ripping the car door back open and dipping into his seat before slamming it shut again and jamming the lock into place with his fist.

Antonio gulped down the fresh mountain air, willing his stomach to still its contractions while brushing a knuckle to his cheek to remove the tear forming in his eye. "Lovi," he called through the window, trying for the handle and frowning slightly when he felt no resistance. "I'm sorry, I wasn't making fun of you," he tried, kneeling slightly so he could peer into the window at the forward-facing Italian. Lovino didn't turn his head to regard the older boy, he had allowed Antonio a piece of his diligently guarded ego and the Spaniard had responded by trampling all over it. This was the reaction Lovino feared most: he didn't want to be treated like some delicate creature, like a broken item needing fixing. He didn't want Antonio's sympathy, because even if he wasn't sure exactly what he had hoped to accomplish by admitting his life was maybe as miserable as it appeared, he knew being coddled wasn't it.

"Lovi," Antonio tried again, his desperate muffled voice making the Italian sigh with frustration and pull his arms across his chest. "Please let me in," the voice sounded again, Lovino didn't look but he just knew there was a spot of fog forming on the glass, born from the moist heat expelled from the Spaniard's mouth so close to his head.

"The other door's unlocked, Bastard," he grumbled, darting his eyes to the floorboard so he didn't have to watch Antonio dart around the front of the car. Shivers ran down the back of Lovino's spine as he heard the crunching footsteps draw away from his side and he jumped unconsciously at the sudden blast of chilly autumn air when the driver's door was yanked open, carrying with it the subtle scent of spices that seemed ever-present in the Spaniard's tanned skin.

Lovino turned his face to the window when he felt the car shifting, sinking from the additional weight of the person moving into the driver's seat. "Lovi," the kind timbre sounded again, Lovino wished the boy would stop saying his nickname so many times. He hated how beautiful and familiar that moniker sounded coming out of his mouth. It had become a guilty pleasure for him, he had given up trying to correct Antonio, convinced that no amount of scolding would alter the Spaniard's behavior. In truth he didn't want to change it, he wanted to pretend he was familiar enough with Antonio to be called by the name only his brother and his parents had ever uttered, even if he knew it was his heart's deception.

"What?" Lovino snapped, feeling suddenly overwhelmed by the day's stresses.

Antonio stared at Lovino's turned head, eyes glazing over as he watched the boy's drained face reflected in the window. "It's just that," he paused, licking his dry top lip as he considered what he should say, "why don't we find somewhere to get lunch." He said after a while, his tone suggesting it was more of a statement than a question.

Lovino stayed silent for a while as he mulled over his response, he had anticipated Antonio to apologize or even to defend himself, either of which he had numerous prepared reactions for, but he hadn't expected the Spaniard to drop the subject all together. "Fine," he said finally, shrugging his shoulder to emphasize his ambivalence before slumping back into his seat, "I probably don't have a choice anyway."

Antonio laughed slightly and shifted the gears into drive, "well, it is my car," he teased, pulling into a 3-point turn and flicking on the windshield wipers when a few rogue raindrops fell from the darkening clouds. "Any idea what you want?" Antonio asked as they noisily rolled down the loosely packed gravel.

"Whatever," Lovino answered halfheartedly, tilting his head on the headrest and closing his eyes as he listened to the wind pick up speed and whip through the drying tree limbs. "I'm not even hungry."

"Well that won't do," Antonio scolded lightly as he neared the end of the road and clicked on his turning signal. He hummed in faked contemplation as he turned onto the highway and whizzed across the dampening asphalt to the signs indicating the downtown area, "well, I've heard of some nice restaurants, I guess we could go to one of those."

"I'm not stupid, you know," Lovino huffed, rolling his head to the other shoulder and looking up expectantly at Antonio's forward-facing eyes.

"What?" Antonio asked teasingly, "I don't know what you mean."

"Right," Lovino agreed, sarcasm filling his voice, "you didn't have any of this planned at all, because it was just supposed just a morning trip, 'we'll definitely be back by afternoon,'" Lovino broke into an impersonation of Antonio, grasping his hands together under his chin as he stared pleadingly at Antonio. "'Please come with me Lovi, please, I have no friends, I'm just a smelly ol' Spaniard and no one likes meeee,'" He continued, throwing his hands down with a scoff when Antonio chuckled lightly.

"Aw, c'mon Lovi, I don't smell, do I?" He appealed, duplicating Lovino's exaggerated tone.

"You do," Lovino nodded, pleased that the attention had finally been removed from himself. "Like an armpit," he added, smirking when Antonio's mouth dropped in indignation.

"Not true," Antonio declared, clicking on the turning signal when the downtown exit came into view. "Unless that armpit belonged to the most alluring, sweet smelling creature in the universe," he added, pleased with his response.

Lovino only snorted and rolled his eyes as he turned his head back to the window, "whatever," he argued weakly.

Antonio glanced to the hunched boy, a warm smile teasing the corner of his lips, "besides, I'm not the only one in this car that smells."

Lovino shot up in his seat and turned to Antonio, his eyebrows knit in anger, "I do not smell!" He shouted, pointing a finger accusingly at the Spaniard's turned face.

Antonio rolled his eyes over to the infuriated boy and grabbed his hand, pulling him forward so he could bury his nose into his wrist. "Mmm," he teased, fighting the temptation to trace his teeth against the soft flesh, "smells like," he paused as he contemplated, "ink and tomatoes."

"Leggo, Pervert!" Lovino yelped, wrenching his palm from Antonio's soft grip and cradling the captured hand against his chest as he willed away the warm blush filling his pale cheeks.

Antonio only laughed, feeling giddy from the contact as he weaved his car through the tight streets. "Sorry," he teased, "I just can't resist eau de Lovi."

"Idiot," Lovino grumbled, rolling his eyes to watch the raindrops splatter against the cold glass as he resisted the smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

Antonio sighed contentedly, pleased that the omnipresent tension was finally unraveling. "Look out for a parking spot," he said as he turned onto the main street, slowing his speed so he could dart his eyes around for an empty space.

"There," Lovino said after a few silent seconds, pressing his finger against the window in urgency as Antonio nodded and eased on his brakes. He moved into the spot, readjusting a few times as he grumbled over his disdain of parallel parking. When he was finally satisfied with his job, he downshifted the car into park and opened the middle console, "I'm afraid I don't have any umbrellas," he said as he dug around for loose coins.

"It's not a big deal," Lovino shrugged, he liked the rain, the way it sizzled on hot asphalt and cooled the warm blush so often marring his cheeks. He appreciated that even the sky, in it's infinite size and unimaginable strength, had to release its burdens from time to time.

Antonio nodded and slammed the console closed, pushing the quarters around his open palm as he mentally calculated how much time they would be afforded. "Are you sure?" He said after a while, closing his hand around the change as he reached for the door handle, "because I could-"

"I'm sure." Lovino snapped, his previous irritation at the Spaniard's propensity for treating him like a helpless child sneaking back into his tense muscles.

Antonio nodded, unfazed by the boy's harsh tone as he pushed open his door and clomped across the wet cement to feed the coins into the meter. "We've got a little less than two hour," he said when he heard the Italian exit the car and slam the door behind him.

"Do we really need that much time?" Lovino scoffed, cursing when he stepped in a deep puddle accumulating at the curb.

Antonio shrugged and dug his keys from his pocket, locking the car before dropping the fob back into his slacks and looking up and down the slightly crowded sidewalk. "I don't want to risk it," he said, grabbing Lovino gently by the elbow and pulling him down the walkway. "Besides," he continued, loosening his grip when the Italian fell in step beside him and yanked his elbow back, "we can always stop in a few stores if we finish lunch early."

"No way," Lovino said flatly, pushing his cold hands in his vest pockets and folding his chin to his chest to keep the raindrops from splashing into his eyes.

"Why not?" Antonio whined jokingly, pausing in front of a posted menu and scanning over its contents before shaking his head and continuing down the sidewalk.

"You've wasted enough of my time," Lovino grumbled, concentrating on the slick sound of his rubber souls against the moist cement.

"You're not implying you haven't had fun?" Antonio gasped in faked shock as he dipped beneath a restaurant awning and studied its menu before smirking and pacing down the street again.

"Yes." Lovino said firmly, tilting his head up as he studied the collection of multicolored umbrellas bobbing over their owners' heads. "Are you ever going to choose a place?" He spat when Antonio turned down the third establishment's offerings and continued down the rainy street.

"Patience, patience," he laughed, "I'm just trying to find the right place."

"If it's dry and has water on the menu, it works," Lovino argued, hunching his shoulders in an attempt to preserve some of his quickly fleeting body heat.

"I thought you didn't mind the rain," Antonio replied, winking down at the frowning Italian.

"I don't," Lovino growled, knitting his eyebrows at the street as he paced, "it's the cold I don't like."

Antonio tilted his head and smiled, "you're cold? Why didn't you say?" he teased, attempting to wrap his arms around the Italian before stumbling back when a sharp elbow met contact with his stomach. "I think that could be called abuse," he coughed out when he had regained his composure, brushing the tears forming in the corners of his eyes with his jacket sleeve.

"Or it could be self-defense," Lovino snapped back, pointing to his black eye with a slight smirk.

"Ah, that was an accident," Antonio defended, picking back up his pace as he neared the end of the street. "Hmm, where is it?" He asked himself quietly, darting his eyes from side to side as he searched for his desired destination.

Lovino sighed and pushed his hands back into his pockets, walking quickly to catch up the with Spaniard's longer strides. "What are you looking for exactly?"

Antonio hummed as he craned his neck to gaze down the entirety of the main street, "it's this place that's supposed to be around here, I don't know much about it except the food's supposed to be great."

Lovino rolled his eyes, "that's not what I meant, tell me what it looks like."

Antonio nodded, "All I know is that there's supposed to be a blue door."

Lovino shook his head to the ground and grabbed the Spaniard's elbow, wrenching him down the street as he stomped across the forming puddles. "We're going the wrong way," he growled, releasing Antonio's arm when he was sure he had caught the boy's attention.

"You saw it?" Antonio asked curiously, jogging slightly so he was walking next to the quickly moving Italian.

"Yeah," Lovino replied simply, keeping his eyes forward as he navigated around the umbrella-bearing civilians.

"That's cool," Antonio said, genuinely impressed.

"A blue door is pretty hard to miss," Lovino scoffed, taking a larger than normal step to avoid a deep pool of water.

"I didn't see it," Antonio reminded, leveling a hand on the small boy's waist when he teetered precariously to the side.

Lovino regained his footing and shook his head, "well it helps that I don't have my head up my ass," he scowled, looking up at Antonio to give him a self-satisfied smirk before turning his eyes back to the street and pointing a finger across the road. "There it is," he said simply, before sliding the hand back into the warm sanctuary of his pocket.

Antonio followed the direction of Lovino's finger and smiled, "awesome," he cheered happily, walking to the crosswalk and turning his head up the one-way street before making his way across the road, unconsciously walking to the side of Lovino so the boy was protected from any oncoming cars. He regarded the posted menu quickly before nodding his head, "yep, this is it," he confirmed before pulling open the door and pausing to enter until the Italian had passed into the building.

"Sit wherever you like," A voice sounded from the kitchen when the pair entered, a tinkling bell alerting the worker's to their presence. The restaurant was sparse in decoration and empty, save for a quietly talking older couple and a man huddled in the corner of the room, face shrouded by a newspaper. Lovino moved to the corner of the room closest to the front windows, wincing at the way the well-worn wooden floors squeaked under his feet.

"It's not exactly fancy, is it?" He mumbled to Antonio when he wrenched his wobbly chair from beneath the table.

"Don't judge a book by-"

"Yeah, yeah," Lovino dismissed the predictable comment, letting an elbow drop on the sticky plastic tablecloth as he peered through the yellowing lace curtains to the rain splattered window. Lovino spaced out when a waiter come up and placed a pitcher of cold water and two laminated menus on the table. He poured himself a glass of the cool liquid immediately and gulped it down, not caring that it was probably from the tap.

"Pace yourself," Antonio laughed, pouring himself a glass and sipping at it as he peered over the menu.

Lovino looked up from his cup and grimaced, he didn't appreciate being treated like a child. He was accustomed to being the strong one, the one that did the looking out for, and the role reversal made him uncomfortable. His life wasn't perfect, but it was what he had decided on, what he had determined was safest. He didn't need someone to change his mind, he didn't want to know what he was missing out on. His life wasn't happy, but it was predictable, and it was the only thing he knew. It scared him to imagine changing, he hardly trusted his existence as it was, if he were to throw a wrench into his thoroughly planned responses and strictly followed regulations, he was certain he would lose everything.

"What are you going to order?" Antonio asked casually, sliding his menu to the edge of the table as he picked up his glass and sipped thoughtfully.

"Nothing," Lovino replied sternly, refilling his glass and taking a few hungry gulps.

"Aren't you hungry?" Antonio asked, lowering his half filled cup back to the table and turning his head to study the Italian's pale face.

"No," Lovino said simply, eyes glazing over as he stared at the glass, wishing he could press his face into its cold surface.

Antonio reached a hand out to touch Lovino's forehead, only to withdraw it when it was slapped away, "Are you feeling ok?"

"Yes," Lovino replied, cheeks growing hot from the attention, "I'm just not fucking hungry," he snapped, anger creeping into his hushed voice.

Antonio sat silently, deciding on the right course of action before sighing and slumping slightly in his seat, "ok," he said finally, picking up Lovino's menu and stacking it on top of his own to hand to the waitress before he made his order. The pair sat in silence while Antonio waited for his food, only the steady pattering of the rain against the window, the comforting murmur of conversation and the occasional crackle of newspaper pages being turned filling the still, humid air. "If I order you something, do you think you'd eat it later when you are hungry?" Antonio asked after a while.

Lovino shrugged one shoulder, refusing to turn his face from the mildew-ridden curtains, "I have a lot of work to do," he mumbled, his cryptic response indicating a mutually understood "no."

"Lovi," Antonio sighed, leaning his head on his hand as he peered at the boy's turned face, "you have to eat or you're not going to get anything done."

"I don't have time," Lovi replied quickly, "someone's kept me out longer than he said."

Antonio picked his head back up and leaned back in his chair, "Ok, I'm sorry," he admitted, "I just thought you needed a break."

"That's not for you to decide," Lovino growled, turning his eyes to glance at the frustrated Spaniard's face.

"Well you'd never decide it on your own," Antonio pleaded, "you're too hard on yourself."

"Where the fuck do you get off-" Lovino started, voice rising a few octaves as he slammed an open palm on his table, before remembering where he was and lowering his voice again, "that's not for you to decide either," he seethed.

"I'm not just going to watch you work yourself to death," Antonio argued, reaching out a hesitant hand to stroke the angered boy's arm.

Lovino jerked his arms back and folded them in front of his chest, "I'm so sorry I'm not carefree like Feliciano," he retorted, voice dripping in sarcasm.

"It's not about Feli," Antonio interrupted, staring pleadingly into the Italian's hazel eyes.

"Isn't it?" Lovino snapped back, lowering his vision to the tacky rubber tablecloth. The truth was he knew it wasn't about Feliciano, at least not anymore. He wasn't clueless, he knew that Antonio was starting to care for him, but it made him feel sick, like he was fooling the boy. There was nothing in him worth loving, he was empty, a void. If he worked himself too hard it's because he had to, to prove his worth, to show the world that there was a reason he was living.

"It hasn't been for a long time," Antonio continued, wanting more than anything to raise from his seat and wrap his arms around the small boy's body.

"Then what-"

"Why does there have to be a reason, Lovi?" Antonio interrupted, "why does there have to be a motive behind liking you?"

Lovino didn't know how to answer, or, he did, but he wouldn't dare say the truth. That there was nothing about him worth liking, absolutely nothing. He was ill-tempered, manipulative, self-centered, he hated himself, so it was inconceivable to imagine why anyone would ever feel differently. He had heard the old adage so many times, about how you had to love yourself before anyone else could do it. It irritated him that he believed it, but it made sense. He knew himself better than anyone, so if he could find no admirable traits, if he was unable to find the will to love himself, then how could anyone else?

"You're so hard on yourself," Antonio pressed, hesitantly pushing against the barriers he could tell were breaking.

Lovino breathed heavily, concentrating on the energy it required to push the air in and out of his tired lungs. He couldn't take it anymore, not the restaurant and the way a thin haze of condensation seemed to be layered upon every surface, the way the curtains were shredded at the bottom, as if they were pulling away from the rod holding them up, or the way the light teal paint cracked around the windows, nor Antonio and the way he breathed, the way he smelled, the way his eyes stared at him so gently and kindly. "Fuck you," he said simply, his mind at a loss to form any kind of coherent statement as he pushed back his seat and straightened to his feet before marching back into the cold and rainy street.

Antonio stared dumbfounded as the Italian exited the room, quickly digging in his pocket for a few crumpled bills and throwing them on the table before darting out the door after him. "Lovi," he shouted as he navigated around the umbrella-bearing strangers, "Lovi, stop!"

Lovino kept his face to the ground, walking quickly as he listened to Antonio's nearing voice. He was embarrassed to have caused a scene, but he felt like he was being cornered, and his instinct was to run. He wasn't used to having anyone question his lifestyle, or try and change it. It made him uncomfortable and defensive, Antonio might have thought he was helping the Italian, but he didn't know what he was getting into, he couldn't possibly realize just how deep his issues went, and how much it hurt to force himself to recognize them.

"Lovi!" Antonio shouted again as he neared the retreating back, he thrust a hand forward, clasping it around Lovino's wrist and yanking the boy back into his stomach. "Stop, Lovi, just stop," Antonio soothed, holding the boy firmly to his chest.

"Let go, Bastard!" Lovino snapped, wriggling against the tight embrace.

"Just listen to me a second," Antonio pleaded, tightening his grip against the Italian's jerking movements.

"No, you listen to me!" Lovino shouted back, positioning his palms against Antonio's chest and pushing back until he was finally released. he stumbled backwards, bumping into a passing civilian but not bothering to apologize as he straightened back up and narrowed an angry gaze at Antonio, "stop pretending like you know me," he seethed, walking up to the Spaniard so he could stare into his emerald eyes, "you don't know me, you don't know anything."

Antonio's face remained calm, no indication of his emotions passing through his features as he gave a short nod, "you're right," he said simply, "I don't know you. How could I, when you refuse to let me in?"

Lovino's mouth gaped open, he wasn't going to allow Antonio to make this his fault, he hadn't asked for the Spaniard's interference in his life. Everything had been fine without him, maybe he wasn't happy, hell, maybe he was fucking miserable, but it was what he wanted, it was safe, it was calculated, it was his life. "I don't need to be saved," Lovino ground out, balling his fists at his sides, "not by you or anyone."

Antonio nodded knowingly, "I know that," he breathed, willing Lovino to understand the truthfulness in his words, "I like you Lovi, and I-" he paused, taking a breath as he contemplated what he wanted to say. "I just, I want to see you smile and laugh, a-and," he laid a hand on Lovino's shoulder and pulled affectionately at his earlobe, "and cry if you have to. It's selfish, Lovi, it's not for you, it's for me."

"I don't-"

"What I want," Antonio continued, undisturbed by the Italian's interjection, "is for you to give me permission to like you."

Lovino couldn't tell if his heart was floating or sinking, it didn't make sense that Antonio would treat him the way he had, not out of sympathy, but out of true affection. He didn't know if he believed it, but he didn't refuse the warm embrace he was suddenly wrapped in or the soft kiss that was pressed to his cheek. He only hoped Antonio didn't taste the salty tears hidden by the steady afternoon rain.


	15. Chapter 15

Lovino rubbed his cheek vigorously as he walked next to Antonio, wincing when his foot landed in a cold puddle. "I promise I don't have cooties," Antonio laughed, reaching a hand out to pat the boy on the shoulder, only to drop it back to his side when the Italian jerked away.

"I can't believe you slobbered on me," Lovino grumbled, grinding his knuckles into his inflamed cheek from a combination of frustration and embarrassment.

Antonio glanced over at the fuming boy and grabbed his thin wrist, pulling the hand away from his reddening face, "seriously, Lovi, you're going to rub your cheek raw."

"Well at least I won't have your damn germs on me," Lovino spat back, wrenching his wrist from the Spaniard's loose hold.

Antonio stared questioningly into Lovino's angry eyes before shrugging,"Look, I'm sorry," Antonio acquiesced, he didn't know if the anger was genuine or if Lovino was just trying to cover something up, and he hated his inability to correctly decipher the forlorn look in those soft hazel eyes.

"Whatever," Lovino grumbled, feeling too emotionally exhausted to fight back, "can we just go already?"

Antonio sighed slightly and tilted his head to study the young boy's pale features, "we can if you really want to, but we still have a lot of time on the meter."

Lovino shrugged and bowed his head to the sparsely falling raindrops. He hated that he had ruined the day, he knew that he should appreciate the fact that Antonio was so willing to bend to his needs, but in truth he resented it. Though he didn't feel his anger was always unjustified, Antonio's willingness to quickly relent to his accusations made him feel overwhelmingly guilty. Lovino felt torn, he didn't want to be burdened with the knowledge that he had knowingly destroyed what might have otherwise been an enjoyable outing, but he was feeling so emotionally drained that he doubted if he could survive being away from his familiar settings much longer. It was selfish, he knew, and he hated that about himself. He couldn't remember a time when he had done something that wasn't solely for his own benefit. Even his deeds for his brother, while seemingly selfless, were really just born from a place of insecurity. Feliciano was someone he could hide behind: Lovino would always be considered less likable and less talented than his brother, so why suffer the impending humiliation or discomfort of trying to prove otherwise? Why commit himself fully to his art when he would never measure up anyway? Why reveal his innermost feelings to Antonio when Feliciano would always be more more handsome, more kind, and, as much as it pained him to admit it, more lovable?

Lovino exhaled deeply and peered up at the sky, studying the way the flimsy gray haze swirled against the solid white sky. He felt like stormy fog was churning around his head, permeating into his ears and eyes and fuming into his lungs, if not for the cold raindrops occasional piercing his pale skin, he would have sworn his body had finally given into itself and disintegrated into that dingy haze. His mind told him the logical thing to do was to just go home, to forget about Antonio's feelings and bury himself away until he forgot this day had ever happened. But when he considered the implications of working alone in the printmaking studio, his heart beat painfully against his chest and his throat constricted. It couldn't be possible, that Antonio had made himself such a fixture in his life that it was painful to imagine being without him, but Lovino felt himself unable to deny it. The one thing he had told himself wouldn't occur, the one thing he had feared most, had happened-he had become dependent on Antonio. And more than that, he was falling for him. It wasn't the same as before, it wasn't just that he thought the Spaniard was attractive, but that he felt like he must be the best person he had ever met. He doubted if Antonio was real, he wondered if he had kept his mind isolated for so long that his brain had created this perfect person out of sheer desperation. No one should be so kind, so understanding and gentle; Lovino no longer felt that he had to protect himself from the older boy, it was already too late for him, there was no way he would come out unscathed. Instead, he felt the need to protect Antonio, to help the Spaniard realize there was nothing in him worth liking.

"Lovi?" Antonio asked quietly, nerves radiating in his fingertips from the urge to brush the Italian's soft, rain-soaked bangs out of his face.

Lovino closed his eyes and took a deep breath, holding it momentarily to feel the cold air linger in his chest before exhaling noiselessly as he lowered his vision from the gray sky. "Let's stay," he said finally, lip trembling to fight a soft smile when Antonio's eyes lit up.

"Are you sure?" The Spaniard asked hesitantly, barely masking his enthusiasm.

Lovino shrugged and nodded, he didn't really want to stay, he still had the innate desire to hide away in the loneliest and darkest space he could find, but he knew his embarrassing behavior would be reality no matter what he did, and at least if he stayed he could attempt to make Antonio forget about the earlier debacles. "We should probably find an umbrella for your car," Lovino said dryly, looking down at his rain-speckled clothes for emphasis.

"I thought you didn't mind the rain," Antonio teased, shaking his head to upset the moisture settling into his chestnut curls.

Lovino stomped past the boy and folded his arms in front of chest, "I don't, but I didn't think I'd be outside this long either."

Antonio shuffled after the boy, bobbing around a few strangers until he was inches away from the retreating heels. "Are you cold?" He whispered innocently, throwing his arms around Lovino's chest and cursing when the Italian stopped in his tracks and dug his elbow into the Spaniard's unprotected stomach. "N-not cute," he squeaked out, hunching over as he tried to regain his breath.

"You deserved it," Lovino bit back, jerking his body around to glare at Antonio, "and I'm not supposed to be cute!" He added haughtily.

"Why do you say that?" Antonio choked out, pulling himself back up and pushing Lovino's shoulder lightly as an indication for the boy to turn back around and continue down the dampening sidewalk.

"Guys aren't cute," Lovino replied immediately, digging his hands in his pockets in an effort to conserve heat as he shuffled down the sparsely crowded walkway.

"Really?" Antonio asked lightly, unconsciously bumping into the Italian's slender arm in an effort to sidestep a dark puddle.

"Yeah," Lovino mumbled, defensively moving his arm closer to his body when a warm blush filled his cheeks from the short contact.

"Hmm," Antonio hummed distractedly as he searched the shop signs for a momentary shelter from the bitter weather. "Hey, let's stop in there," He said finally, jerking his thumb towards a crumbling stone building with "General Store" painted on it's worn face in chipped and faded red letters.

"You would pick the crappiest looking building here," Lovino replied bitterly, pushing against Antonio's arm to point them towards the antiquated store.

"Why do you always assume the worst of things just from their appearances?" Antonio asked seriously, reaching forward to pull the heavy wooden door open for the Italian.

"I'm an artist," Lovino snapped back, breath catching in his throat from the musky warmth radiating from the store's interior. "Visual things are supposed to be my specialty or something."

Antonio stepped into the room once Lovino was inside, wiping his feet on the frayed entrance mat before shuffling onto the creaking wooden floor. "You don't really believe that though, do you?" Antonio asked, flicking his vision around at the small groups of browsing consumers lazily combing through racks of heavy winter coats and soft plaid shirts.

"Believe what?" Lovino asked, head feeling numb from the steady buzz of low conversation engulfing the store. "That I'm a visual person?"

"No," Antonio laughed, pulling Lovino's sleeve lightly to encourage the boy to follow him to the back of the room, "what I meant was, you don't think the world is all about appearances." He clarified, chest warming from the strengthening mingled smells of spices and fresh popcorn, "I knew there had to be a food section," he added happily when a wide staircase came into view.

Lovino scoffed and rolled his eyes, "if there was, you'd be the one to find it," he grumbled, wondering if Antonio would understand he hadn't meant it as a compliment.

"I love what I do, what's wrong with that?" Antonio laughed, padding down the creaking stairs and noting curiously at the way the middle sagged slightly from years of use. "Besides, a certain someone caused me to miss lunch."

Lovino felt his heart freeze at the mention of the embarrassing episode, he had hoped the rare moment of emotional candor could go by without mention, but as he watched Antonio browse obliviously through a wrack of mulled spices, he knew the chances of the Spaniard realizing his discomfort without explicit explanation were minimal. "Hey," Lovino said suddenly, shooting his vision around in a panic until he spotted Antonio a few paces away, happily studying a rose-shaped baking tin. "Hey," he repeated, walking towards the Spaniard and waving a hand lightly to catch the distracted boy's attention.

Antonio lifted his head from the tin and hummed in acknowledgment, a contented smile on his lips. "What's wrong, Lovi?"

"Nothing, I-" Lovino hesitated, he had decided this momentary discomfort would be worth it if it meant avoiding the prolonged torture he would inevitably face, but he still dreaded bringing up the uneasy topic of his previous breeches of composure. "It's just that-" he tried again, blood warming the back of his neck and slowly pooling in his round cheeks, "I'm," he bit his lip slightly and turned his face to the floor when a grimace tugged at the corner of his mouth, "I'm sorry." He admitted finally, voice strained and quiet.

Antonio knit his eyebrows in confusion and tenderly placed the metal tin back on its shelf. "What for?" He pressed, resting a hand on Lovino's bicep and shaking it slightly to encourage the boy to turn his vision from the knotted wooden floor. "Hey," he tried again, bending down slightly so he could look up into the Italian's uncomfortable face, "what are you sorry for?"

Lovino stepped back from the Spaniard's grip, barely avoiding running into a passing customer. He turned his head from the floor and glanced at Antonio's concerned face before sighing and rolling his eyes to the corner of the large room, "just for-for the market, a-and the hike, and-and lunch-I'm just-I'm sorry, ok?"

Antonio's eyes softened and a sympathetic smile washed across his tanned features, "You don't have to apologize." He said simply, shuffling past the Italian to study a bag of dried apples.

Lovino bit the inside of his lip and turned on his heel, stomping over to the Spaniard to stare up angrily at his peaceful face, "look, can you just say that you accept it?"

"What?" Antonio teased, lifting the bag above his head and studying the way the yellow light filtered through the thinly sliced apples.

"What do you mean 'what?'" Lovino demanded, "the apology, accept the apology."

"But why would I do that?" Antonio asked, returning the apples to their shelf and picking up a bag of candied grapefruit peels.

Lovino wrenched the bag out of Antonio's hands and slammed it back in its place, "listen to me dammit," he seethed, irritation deepening when he noticed the Spaniard's neutral expression.

Antonio nodded slightly, "ok," he said calmly, "I'm listening."

Lovino cursed the older boy mentally, he couldn't decide if Antonio truly didn't understand why he felt the need to apologize or if he was just egging him on, but either way he could feel his agitation at the situation mounting. "Look," he said finally, vision leveling out on Antonio chest, "I know the day hasn't gone well, and-" he paused, wincing from the effort of his admissions, "it's just that, well, I know it's mostly my fault." When Antonio didn't immediately reply, Lovino turned his eyes hesitantly upward, and he felt his chest tighten at the sight of the Spaniard's seemingly indifferent face.

Antonio hummed quietly for a while, desperately trying to sort out Lovino's motives for apologizing before finally giving up with a shrug, "I guess I just don't understand what there is to apologize for."

Lovino's mouth gaped open as he stared disbelieving at the older boy's face. "You can't be serious," he spat, "how can it not bother you that all your plans for today have been ruined?"

Antonio chuckled slightly and tilted his head, "you really are narrow-minded sometimes, huh?"

"What does that have to do with anything?" Lovino snapped. He knew he was obstinate, he had always known it, yet couldn't deny the pang of hurt that radiated through his chest from being called out for one of his many negative qualities.

"Ah, maybe I didn't say that right," Antonio corrected, waving his hands in front of his chest in an unconscious attempt to wipe his earlier words away. "How do I explain this?" He mumbled to himself, scratching his cheek in contemplation, "it's like this store." He decided finally, "would you have come in here on your own?"

"No," Lovino grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest in frustration, "but what does that have to do with any-"

"But it's nice on the inside, right?" Antonio interrupted, a familiar smile warming his features.

"Yeah, I guess," Lovino admitted easily, turning his head to the wall when the sight of the Spaniard's kind grin sent a familiar warmth into his cheeks.

"Well, it's like that," Antonio explained, "I had plans for the day, sure," he admitted, "but who's to say those plans are better than what's happened?"

"You can't seriously be suggesting shopping by yourself, carrying someone down a mountain and paying for a lunch you didn't get to eat makes a good day." Lovino deadpanned, his humiliation at the events outweighed by his consternation at the Spaniard's suggestion.

"That's the thing," Antonio pressed, peering into the Italian's handsome profile as he willed him to understand what he was saying, "if you say it like that, then yeah, the day sounds kind of crappy." He admitted, "but there's more to it than that."

"What does that even mean?" Lovino groaned.

"Times like these, Lovi, getting to talk to you and learn things about you," Antonio turned his head up to the bug-speckled overhead lights and shrugged, "it's nice."

"That's stupid," Lovino replied immediately, fear, shame and a small flicker of hope all churning in his stomach in an indecipherable mass. "If you're not going to accept my apology then just forget it," he snapped, taking a few steps past Antonio and pausing when a strong hand grabbed his forearm.

"Why are you so dead set on apologizing?" Antonio asked, eyes gleaming innocently.

Lovino didn't turn his head back to Antonio, but he didn't jerk his arm away either. He was tired of being the focus of conversation, he wondered if he had been wrong all these years about his aversion to attention. Maybe his unsociable ways and quick temper were an attempt to make someone realize there was something wrong with him, to clue them in that he wasn't as strong as he let on. After all, if he truly wanted to go through life unnoticed, then wouldn't he try harder to be amicable? Surely people were more apt to forget a person that was somewhat social and somewhat nice, rather than one that was highly isolated and quick to anger. He realized that he had excused his behavior as intentional, when really it was anything but. His actions might have started as a defense mechanism, when he was too young to wrap his head around the idea that no one truly cared for him, but they had slowly become part of his nature. He no longer had the luxury of saying he was intentionally foul to push people away, he was too old to fool himself. He desired love just like everyone else, only his personality was so bleak he could never receive it.

"I-" Lovino said finally, pleased when his voice didn't immediately reflect his emotions, "I don't want to talk about it."

"But then-"

"No," Lovino interrupted, finally pulling his arm out of Antonio's grasp so he could turn and face the confused boy, "you don't understand."

"Ok?" Antonio prompted when Lovino didn't immediately expand on his vague statement.

Lovino sighed and shook his head slightly in a small plea to whatever deity found it so necessary to torture him endlessly, "I'm not talking about the apology. I mean that I don't want to talk about today," he clarified, grimacing in resignation. "I guess it's good that you think the day's been nice," he ground out, "but it hasn't been to me."

"But why not?" Antonio asked immediately, he supposed he already knew the answer, but he had learned never to take anything for granted with the capricious Italian.

"That's the thing," Lovino started in again, rolling his sore shoulders under the weight of his confessions, "I don't want to talk about it."

Antonio studied the small boy silently, uncertain as to the correct course of action. He didn't want to push the issue, not immediately anyway. Lovino had had a trying day as it was, and he knew he couldn't expect to transcend the Italian's barriers in one day, not without destroying the lively spirit that made him so interesting. It was going to be a long process, and if it meant spending more time with Lovino, Antonio was happy to commit himself to it.

"Ok," Antonio relented hesitantly, still unsure if bending to Italian's request was the right thing to do. "If you don't want to talk about it, we don't have to."

"I don't," Lovino reaffirmed, nodding his head for emphasis and slightly relieved that Antonio was willing to drop the subject.

"Well then," Antonio laughed awkwardly, "back to shopping then, huh?"

Lovino nodded, and shuffled past the Spaniard, shocked at the squeaking noise of his feet on the worn wood floor. He didn't remember losing touch with sound, but now that he was worming his way around the displays, the steady sound of soft murmuring and buzzing lights permeating the air, he realized that all he could remember from the past ten minutes was the comfortable timbre of Antonio's voice. "Do you like peach?" A voice sounded close to Lovino's ear, making his shoulders jump from surprise.

"Ah, yeah," Lovino returned quickly, hoping Antonio hadn't noticed his shock.

"Good," Antonio smiled, reaching over the Italian's shoulder to lift a bag of sanded peach hard candies from their rack.

"Let me buy them," Lovino argued, grabbing the bag as it sailed past his face.

"Why?" Antonio laughed, touched by the gesture.

"Because of lunch," he grumbled, aware that he was breaking his own rules, but unwilling to lose the opportunity to release his mind from at least some portion of guilt.

"It's not a big deal-" Antonio started, before peering down at the tired Italian and loosening his hold on the bag, "ok then, if you really want to."

Lovino's fingers tightened around the stiff plastic, "thanks," he mumbled quietly.

Antonio waved a hand dismissively, "but I'm going to buy us drinks, ok?" He grinned, eager to turn the conversation in a more positive direction.

"Fine, but I want water," Lovino agreed, pushing past the Spaniard to make his way to the cash register.

"But Lovi, they have orange soda in glass bottles!" Antonio argued, trailing closely behind the boy.

"So what?" Lovino groaned, placing the crinkled bag of hard candies on the counter and smiling warmly at the old lady behind the register.

"Look, I'll get you water and a soda," Antonio continued, pulling open the cooler next to the door and shivering against the cold air before choosing his drinks and carrying them deftly over to the counter, plucking a small bag of peanuts from the closest display and tossing it next to the beverages.

Lovino shot Antonio an angry look before pocketing his receipt and slumping over to the closest door to watch Antonio make his purchases from a distance. "I told you I didn't want a soda," Lovino seethed when the Spaniard made his way over to him.

"I had to, you'll see," Antonio winked, peering over the Italian to look through the door's fogged window. "Hey, rocking chairs!" He laughed, turning the rusty doorknob and pushing Lovino softly by the small of his back to exit the shop. Antonio plopped into the nearest chair, busying himself with pulling a bottle of soda from his brown paper shopping bag, seemingly unconscious to the cold and hazy weather.

"You've got to be kidding," Lovino groaned, slumping into the seat next to Antonio and folding his arms against his body to conserve warmth. "The weather's too crappy to sit out here."

"It's not so bad," Antonio argued, finally wrenching the cap from it's home and holding the fizzing soda to the Italian, "take a sip of this, won't you?"

"I told you I don't want it," Lovino argued, eyebrows knit from his growing irritation. Antonio only shrugged and brought the drink to his lips, gulping loudly before placing the bottle between his thighs so he could struggle to open the bag of peanuts.

"My grandpa showed me this," he explained once the bag ripped open and he carefully deposited a handful of salty peanuts into the mouth of the bottle. He rested the peanuts back in the paper bag and lifted the drink from his thighs to swirl the concoction around, eyes glistening as he watched the peanuts dance aimlessly in the orange liquid before offering the bottle to the repulsed Italian.

"I definitely don't want it now," Lovino grimaced, leaning away from the drink in disgust.

"C'mon Lovi, please, just try it," Antonio encouraged, thrusting the bottle closer to the boy's clenched hand.

"That's gross," Lovino defended, holding his open palms ahead of his chest.

"Just take a tiny sip, please?" Antonio persisted, it felt so important to share this memory with the Italian. He recalled late afternoons, sitting with his grandfather on their porch in the hot, dewey summer, sharing the drink his grandpa swore was his own secret recipe. It was an act of love, he realized, to pass down something so cherished.

Lovino swatted Antonio's hand away so he could stare the boy in the eyes, "if I try it will you leave me alone?" He relented through gritted teeth.

Antonio nodded and smiled, "of course," he laughed, "it's not like I'm trying to torture you."

"Wouldn't've surprised me," Lovino snapped back sarcastically, wrenching the fizzing bottle from Antonio's hand and eyeing it miserably.

"Just a tiny sip," Antonio encouraged, trying not to snort when Lovino scrunched his eyes together and took a hesitant sample. "Well?" He asked impatiently, pleased that the Italian hadn't immediately thrown the glass to the ground.

Lovino shrugged, he wasn't sure if he actually liked the concoction, the flavor was too new, too unexpected to ascertain a proper reaction on the first taste. He took another sip of the drink, intentionally turning away from the wide smile he knew Antonio would be wearing. "It's not bad," Lovino decided finally, slumping against his seat as he licked the subtle saltiness from his lips.

"I'm glad," Antonio grinned, digging in his bag again to prepare his own drink. "Hey pull out those candies," he said as he struggled to wrench the tight cap from the bottle.

Lovino hummed with acknowledgment, placing his beverage between his legs as he pulled the out the plastic bag and ripped it open. He dipped his nose to the newly-formed opening, cheeks warming from the thick, sweet scent permeating from the peach drops. He pulled out a piece and popped it in his mouth, his tongue salivating immediately from the slight tartness.

"How are they?" Antonio asked as he busily deposited a small handful of salty peanuts into the lid of his drink.

"Good," Lovino replied, trying not to slurp as he spoke, "here," he offered, holding the bag out to the Spaniard. Antonio nodded and took a piece, mumbling a small thanks before popping the candy into his mouth. The two sat in silence for a while, both gazing wistfully at the distant rolling mountains. Lovino felt the world come into sharp focus: the way the hazy gray clouds brushed against the caps of the sloping hills, the soft patter of rain against the tin overhang, the rhythmic squeak of Antonio's rocking chair, and the sweet and floral taste blooming in his mouth, he could feel these things becoming ingrained in his memory. It was a sensation he couldn't explain, but he knew that this moment, in all it's apparent insignificance, would be one he would never forget.

"This is nice, huh?" Antonio asked after a while. Lovino only hummed, hesitant to surrender the comfortable silence. "Hey, Lovi?" Antonio tried again, finally pulling his eyes from the peaceful scenery to address the Italian. Lovino didn't immediately answer, he had come to recognize that tone, it meant Antonio had something on his mind, something potentially painful, or worse, revealing. "Lovi?" Antonio repeated, tilting his head in wonder over the boy's continued silence.

Lovino sighed and rested his head on the back of his chair, eyes wrenched closed in resignation, "what?"

Antonio licked his lips, carefully formulating his words before he continued, "I want to say something, but you don't have to reply," he explained, carefully studying Lovino's expression before continuing. "In fact I don't want you to."

"Then why bother?" Lovino groaned, wishing Antonio would just let him be.

"Because," Antonio paused, considering his words,"I just need you to hear it," he finished lamely.

"Oh so then it's not really for my benefit," Lovino scoffed, rolling his shoulders from annoyance.

"I guess not," Antonio laughed, "sorry."

Lovino rolled his eyes and let out an exaggerated sigh, "just tell me so we can move on." He thumped his head back against the seat, tilting his head slightly towards the sloping mountains. He hoped his disinterest was convincing, in truth his heart was beating madly in his chest, his mind racing with wild theories as to what Antonio's revelation might be.

"I know I'm not supposed to talk about it," Antonio prefaced cautiously, "but I wanted to talk about earlier-" He paused when Lovino folded his arms closer to his chest, he could tell the boy was preparing himself for an attack, but his continued silence was encouraging. "You said that you don't want to talk about past things," Antonio recalled, "and that's fine." He slumped back into his seat and stared wistfully out at the hazy sky. "It's fine, as long as we can keep talking."

"We're talking now, aren't we?" Lovino replied dryly.

"Yeah, I'm not explaining it well," Antonio laughed, combing his fingers through his wavy locks in an effort to sort out his thoughts. "What I mean is, we don't ever have to talk about the past, as long as it doesn't keep us from making a future."

Lovino knit his eyebrows, confused as to what Antonio meant, but unsure if he wanted to press the issue. "I don't underst-"

"Or not even a future," Antonio corrected immediately, "just a present would be fine." He smiled lightly as he lolled his head to the side, watching the Italian in the corner of his periphery. "I just don't want us to stop having nice moments like these."

Lovino didn't reply, he still didn't completely understand, and he didn't know if Antonio meant having nice moments in general or having them together, as a pair. "I don't want that either," he returned after a while, and as he creaked his chair back and forth, bracing himself against the bitter autumn wind, he wasn't sure if he had agreed to the notion of having peaceful moments by himself, or of having them with Antonio.


	16. Chapter 16

Antonio's eyes burned against the soft and bitter wind. He couldn't remember the last time he blinked, the sight of the hazy mountains, sprawled lazily against the churning overcast sky, was too intoxicating. It felt like the minutes were simultaneously stretching into hours and contracting into fleeting seconds, time was irrelevant, almost non-existent. Instead, his reality had become the view of those distant hills, the rhythmic creak of his rocking chair against the aging porch, and Lovino's quiet and steady breathing. He had a feeling the boy had fallen asleep, but he didn't dare check, scared that if he breathed too deeply or moved too quickly, the serene atmosphere would be frightened away and the presence of time, space and the worries that accompanied them would come crashing back down.

Antonio smiled slightly when he heard a short, contended hum escape from the Italian's throat. He would've liked to be able to sit and talk to the Italian, but the idea of waking the sleeping boy was appalling. He knew the day had been stressful for Lovino, even if he had tried his best to keep it from being so. It was strange, Antonio thought, that despite their outward appearances, Lovino was the more fragile of the brother's. He would never have guessed it, not with Feliciano's sweet and gullible disposition, but he knew it was true, even with his less than perfect skills at deciphering anything beyond the surface. What Antonio couldn't decide, was why he seemed to be the first to ever realize it. It seemed so obvious to him, that Lovino was self-deprecating, so lost and alone, and desperate for someone to care. That was it though, he realized, it probably wasn't that no one noticed, but that they didn't care, that they didn't want to spend enough time with the ill-mannered boy to give him the help he so obviously needed. It made Antonio's heart swell in his chest when he thought about it, Lovino's way of dealing with his problems was misdirected, sure, but it killed him to think that no one would even attempt to get to know him, to show him there were things in him worth loving. Antonio felt oddly protective over the boy now, like a parent determined to guard his child from the cruelty of the world until he had grown mentally enough to protect himself.

Antonio wondered what Lovino thought of him, he wondered if it really mattered. The Italian was sure to despise him, after all, he hadn't been completely innocent in his motives to befriend the boy. Despite his newly found indignation, he knew he could easily be considered a hypocrite, because if not for his immediate attraction to Feliciano, he would've never given Lovino a second thought. He wondered if without his interest in the younger Italian to motivate him, if he would've looked past Lovino's outward flaws, and, even if he had and seen the insecure boy behind them, if he would've cared enough to reach out to him. Antonio folded his arms across his lap when a shiver forced its way down his spine, he suddenly felt ashamed of himself, of the person he knew he could have easily been. Lovino wasn't perfect, that fact was more obvious than it was with most people, and Antonio appreciated the honesty. He felt confident in knowing there was no pretense to the boy, Lovino was a flawed individual, he didn't apologize for it, didn't hide it. What Antonio couldn't decipher, was why he would so desperately conceal his positive traits.

Antonio stared lazily at the golden halo of orange gradually forming around the silhouette of the distant mountains. He clamped his eyes shut, willing the time to slow down, to match the stillness he had imagined. If the sun was setting, it meant this day was going to end, and it made him strangely fearful. Despite what Lovino had said, he worried that if he woke the Italian up, if he brought him to the car and back to the dorm, that somehow he would lose him. He realized that he had been operating under the assumption that his relationship with Lovino was for the boy's benefit, rather than his own, but now he knew that might not be the case. He couldn't remember ever feeling like his life was especially lacking: he was happy, he loved what he did and had good friends, yet somehow Lovino was filling a void he didn't know he had, and the idea of losing that fullness was chilling, even unimaginable.

"What time is it?" A groggy voice sounded, shaking Antonio from his thoughts.

"Ah, I don't know," Antonio laughed apologetically, snapping his eyes open and shaking his head in a silent effort to pull himself from the gloom he had been settling into. "Sorry," he tacked on as an afterthought, suddenly remembering how important time was to the younger boy.

"Useless," Lovino scoffed, sleepiness still weighing in his voice.

Antonio only smiled, appreciative that the Italian hadn't instantly erupted into anger over his negligence, "Did you have a good nap?" He teased, knowing the question was certain to irritate the boy, but unable to resist asking it.

"I wasn't napping." Lovino jumped in immediately, snapping his head towards the laughing Spaniard.

"Aw c'mon, it's cute," Antonio winked at the boy, before letting his head roll back so he could stare wistfully at the orange, cloud-streaked sky.

"I fucking hate that word," Lovino growled to himself, knitting his eyebrows as he regarded Antonio's peaceful profile.

Antonio ignored the comment, too contended by the familiar banter and chilling early evening breeze, "the sky looks like your face," he said finally, smiling at his own observation.

Lovino turned his head outward, watching as the slowly dispersing clouds were cast in a dark purple against the golden tinted sky. "What's that supposed to mean?" He huffed, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms against his chest as he tilted his head towards the Spaniard.

Antonio laughed softly and tapped the skin beneath his eye. Lovino mirrored the action, letting his soft fingers brush against his eye socket and wincing slightly at the pain the touch produced. He had forgotten the injury, and he resented Antonio for reminding him of the embarrassing incident, even if he had done so without words. He grunted in understanding and tapped his teeth together anxiously, he wondered how bad the bruise looked now and if he would still be able to hide it from his brother. "Does it look that bad?" He asked tiredly, carefully masking the anxiousness in his voice.

"Sorta," Antonio returned, shrugging regretfully, "but it's a good sign, bruises always get darker before they heal."

Lovino grunted in acknowledgment and slumped into his seat, shoulders dipping forward slightly in unease. He knew Antonio was right, as dense as he liked to believe the man was. His bruise was probably on it's way to getting better, and though he felt he should be grateful for the quick healing, the blatant darkness he knew must be marring his pale skin made a ball of anxiety settle into his stomach. He had hoped the injury would fade away quietly, somehow magically avoiding the multi-colored stages he knew bruises so often adopted, not because he feared the reaction of his classmates or even his professors, but because he didn't want his brother to see it. He didn't know why it was so important to keep Feliciano from seeing the bruise, he wanted to believe it was because he didn't feel like reciting the story behind its appearance, but he was aware that wasn't the total truth. He liked his brother to believe he was impenetrable, that he was a pillar of strength on which the younger boy could always lean. He couldn't remember if it was for his own benefit or Feliciano's, but he held steadfastly to the facade, hoping it would offer some comfort and permanence in his brother's untraditional upbringing.

It would be a lie to say he didn't gain something from the act, certainly pretending like the world and its cruelties were no match for his bitter temper had allowed him some sort of coping mechanism. After all, you could only pretend to be impervious to brutality for so long before the deception became somewhat of a reality. Lovino liked to think that he had become quite skillful at dealing with adverse situations and people, his temper was quick and biting, and could sufficiently quell any mounting confrontations. Unfortunately, the action of anger was the only aspect he had completely adopted, he couldn't fully let go of the words pointed at him, and he had never really learned how not to believe them. Lovino let his fingers travel up his cold cheek to settle lightly against his damaged skin, he smirked as he considered how representative the harmless bruise was of his overall emotional state. The things people said about him, the things they did to him, or even the way they completely disregarded him, all these things might seem inconsequential, unimportant. But over time, the continual mistreatment wore upon Lovino, his psyche and self-esteem were only so inviolable, even snide remarks or the smallest of cruel gestures could be rendered severe if the former damages were never mended. He didn't know when it happened, the change was gradual, but he had started to rot from the inside out, crumpling under the weight of the repressed self-hatred that had been cultivated from years of untended, and largely unnoticed, mental abuse.

Lovino stared unblinking as the sky's orange hue was gradually intermixed with a soft haze of purple, dully shining stars lazily dotting its darkening surface. "We should go," he said after a while, he knew he should want to return back to the school. He had a lot of work to do, and he was worried about the mischief his brother was capable of getting himself in from almost a whole Saturday without his brother's looming presence, but he felt strangely intoxicated by the beauty of the evening.

Antonio yawned and stretched his arms over his head, arching his back until it cracked with a satisfying pop. "You're probably right," Antonio agreed, nodding lazily as he pulled himself from his seat and leaned over to gather up his abandoned refuse.

"When did it stop raining?" Lovi asked, desperately stifling a yawn to keep the Spaniard from realizing he had been watching him.

Antonio straightened back up and cocked his head towards the creeping twilight, as if the clouds would reveal the answer. "Ah, I'm not sure," he laughed, scratching the back of his head, "I hadn't even noticed to be honest." He admitted, sticking his tongue out in embarrassment.

Lovino sighed and rolled his eyes, "you really are useless," he groaned in disbelief as he slowly hoisted himself from his chair. He rolled his stiff shoulders, shocked at how heavy his limbs felt. "Are you sure you weren't sleeping?"

Antonio shook his head softly and grinned at the tired looking Italian, "nah," he shrugged, "I was just thinking."

Lovino knit his eyebrows at the younger boy before finally processing the words and pulling his knuckles up to his mouth so he could giggle into them. "What's so funny?" Antonio laughed, pleased to have elicited such a cheerful response from the Italian.

Lovino took in a few deep breaths, before coughing a reply, "I didn't know you were capable," he said simply, leaving Antonio to put the pieces together. It was an immature response, he knew, and he felt his tiredness was contributing to the humor of the situation, but it felt good to laugh, and so he allowed himself the luxury.

Antonio shrugged and continued to chuckle along with the boy, he could be the butt of a million jokes if it meant seeing Lovino's face lighten with mirth. "Alright, so maybe thinking isn't one of my strongest suits," he conceded, delighted when his admission produced a new peel of belly laughs from the younger boy.

The pair stayed like that for a while, Lovino's red cheeks shining vibrantly against the porch's increasingly bright florescent lights. After many failed attempts to quell his laughter, Lovino finally stilled his abdomen's contractions, voice hitching as he drew in deep breath after deep breath, threatening to break into a new fit of insuppressible chuckles.

His jaw and stomach were sore from overuse, but it was a comforting pain, one that reminded him of the sudden aberration from his foul mood. He realized that he had forgotten it was possible to feel anything but dread and misery. It was stupid really, to think he might be incapable of adopting different moods, but if he had forgotten his ability, he knew it was his own fault. After all, wasn't it his own mistrust in happiness that had caused him to reject it? He had convinced himself of so many things over the years, protected himself so steadfastly from the world in a desperate attempt to cope with the changes around him. He knew he must be maturing, age was the only explanation he could come up with for his gradual understanding that the world didn't have to be the place he had made it out to be, that he didn't have to react to it in the way he did. It was a comforting thought, but it didn't change anything. He knew it would probably take him longer to unlearn his reactions to the world than it took him to adopt them in the first place, but it was nice to know he was learning how to see things from a different perspective.

"We should go before they kick us out," Antonio teased, unconsciously reaching a hand out to brush Lovino's wind-blown bangs from his forehead before wrenching his arm back in sudden realization and instead patting the boy's shoulder awkwardly in a bid to move him towards the door.

"They can't kick us out, we're already outside," Lovino bit back, but he trudged towards the door anyway, too drained and delirious to consider fighting back.

Antonio's eyes flitted casually through the store's stock-packed space, an apron-laden employee zoomed through the room, carelessly sweeping debris into a dustpan while another straightened and re-arranged misplaced items. "I guess it's later than I thought," he chuckled apologetically as he continued to nudge Lovino ahead of him by the small of his back.

"You think?" Lovino asked sarcastically, desperately fighting the bubble of mirth that bloomed in his chest from the memory the question triggered.

Antonio ignored him, frowning slightly as he clomped dejectedly up the well-worn staircase. "I guess we won't be able to get anything to eat," he sighed, making Lovino roll his eyes with frustration.

"Do you ever think about anything but food?" He demanded tiredly, feet dragging slightly as he pushed his way through the first level's door back into the cold evening air.

Antonio shrugged knowingly and grinned, "I think about it as much as you think about art."

Lovino jammed his hands into his plush vest, hunching his shoulders to shield himself against the chilly wind. He hadn't remembered it being so cold before, he guessed the reprieve in the store, as short as it had been, had been enough to disturb his acclimation to the cold. "That's not true," he grumbled, irritated that Antonio would make such an assumption, "I don't care about art."

"Really?" Antonio feigned surprise, sneaking glances at the Italian's slightly down-turned face as he walked slowly beside him, purposefully abating his pace in an effort to match the smaller boy's stride.

"You know that," Lovino accused, his embarrassment over admitting Antonio might know something about him was outweighed by his agitation over the out-worn topic.

Antonio shrugged and glanced up at an orange streetlight, "well, I know that's what you believe anyway."

Lovino knit his eyebrows in irritation, he knew Antonio was goading him on, trying to force him to reveal something about himself. It pissed him off that the Spaniard would knowingly push him into another outburst. He had felt so optimistic before, so hopeful, it was a feeling he was rarely afforded and so it irritated him that, whether knowingly or not, Antonio was going to muffle it so quickly. "Whatever," Lovino muttered noncommittally.

Antonio stayed quiet for a while, Lovino hadn't responded in the way he had expected, and he was suddenly worried that he had actually hurt the boy. "Ah, I don't mean to say that-" Antonio paused, desperately trying to decipher what he had meant, "I mean that, I'm not trying to say you're wrong."

Lovino scoffed slightly and pulled his elbows closer to his body, "ok then," he bit back, obviously disbelieving.

"Lovi," Antonio sighed, allowing the quiet babble of the pedestrians on the sparsely filled walkway to engulf the two for a moment before fishing his keys out his pocket when the familiar hue of his car came into view. Antonio dug his thumb into the fob, blinking against the sudden light from his headlights when his car responded. He walked towards the passenger side, only to pause when Lovino brushed past him and wrenched his own door open. Shrugging, Antonio returned to the driver's side, peering at Lovino's grumpy face through the reflecting glass before easing his door open and sliding into the soft leather seat. "You're not going to ignore me the whole time we drive back, are you?" Antonio asked, knowing it was dangerous to provoke the boy when he was entering one of his moods, but finding himself unable to resist.

Lovino bit the inside of his lip and jerked his eyes towards Antonio, "don't act like it's not your fault," he accused, crossing his arms tightly against his chest, "I don't appreciate always being made out as the bad guy."

Antonio knit his eyebrows in confusion, blinking at his reflection in the windshield. "What are you talking about?" He asked finally, genuinely perplexed.

"Y-you," Lovino burst out, endlessly frustrated at the Spaniard's inability to ever grasp his meaning, "you're not so great you know," he spat, digging his nails into his thighs.

"I," Antonio started, glancing over at the Italian's fuming cheeks before turning his head forward again, "I never said I was."

"You don't have to say it," Lovino insisted immediately, "I can tell you think it, and I-I'm not going to be a charity case, dammit." He seethed through the last words, he didn't need Antonio's pep talks about how or why art should be important to him. The older boy didn't know his life, he didn't know his motives behind the choices he made, and he could never know them.

Antonio chuckled softly to himself, shaking his head slowly against his seat before turning towards the Italian and grabbing the boy by the wrist, "dammit, Lovi," he stated, revealing an unfamiliar darkness in his eyes that shocked Lovino into listening. "Ah, s-sorry," Antonio amended immediately, releasing the small boy's lithe wrist and settling back into his seat. "It's just that, I'm not hanging out with you because I think it's the right thing to do." He clarified, "if anything, you should be mad at me because it's the opposite, because I did it for Feli-" Antonio paused, disturbed by the way Lovino shivered from the mention of his brother's name. "Anyway," he continued, deciding the topic was best avoided, "I've said it before but I'll say it again if I have to, I'm here with you because I like you. I'll say it as many times as you need me to."

Lovino's lips drooped into a frown, still dissatisfied with the answer. He didn't like being reminded of Antonio's previous intentions, whether they were still viable or not. As much as he loved his brother, it was tiring to constantly play second fiddle, even if he had brought it upon himself. "If you really liked me you'd leave me alone."

"Leave you alone?"

"I mean about art," Lovino interjected, "I hate the way you look when you talk about it, like you know better than I do about how much it means to me." Lovino swallowed heavily before continuing, "maybe I like it, and maybe I don't, but it's none of your business." He seethed, irritated at the way his words came across as a plea rather than with the force he had intended, "just leave me alone." He had meant to say 'it,' 'leave it alone,' and he stole a glance at Antonio to see if the boy had caught the mistake, only to settle back into his seat when he spied the older boy's neutral face.

Antonio nodded, taking his time to fully process Lovino's words before contributing his own thoughts. "You're right, I guess, I mean, it's none of my business," he conceded easily, "but I don't say those things to-well-" Antonio paused, confused by his own words, "well, I guess I do say them to encourage you," he finished lamely, "but not because I think you're a charity case."

"Then why?"

"Because," Antonio sighed, "like I said before, I like you, and so I want to know the things that make you happy. I thought you liked art, and print-uh, printmaker-"

"Printmaking," Lovino interjected, rolling his eyes.

"Yeah, that's it," Antonio laughed, "I thought you liked it, at least you seemed like you did, and you always seem to be in the studio, and-" Antonio stopped when Lovino shot him an angry glare and threw his hands in front his chest in defense, "sorry, sorry," he grinned, "anyway, it seemed like you liked it, but maybe I'm wrong, and that's ok, it's not important." Antonio let his hands drop into his lap and shrugged slightly, "I'm sorry, I don't really know where I'm going with this."

Lovino struggled to hold back a giggle despite himself and shook his head slightly, "typical."

"Yeah," Antonio laughed half-heatedly, pulling on his seat belt before easing the key into the ignition and revving the engine. He eased the car into reverse, sliding a hand behind Lovino's headrest to peer at the street behind the car, and smiling to himself when he caught sight of the calmer looking Italian. In truth he could have said more, he wanted to tell Lovino that he asked him about his art because he wanted to be privy to the things that made him happy. He had caught sight of how soft the boy's face looked when he smiled, how his eyes sparkled when he stopped shouldering all of his insecurities and allowed himself to peer above the mire he had planted himself in. It was intoxicating, the most powerful stimulant Antonio had ever encountered, and he wished to experience it again and again. But the Spaniard knew he didn't have to say those things, the reality of it would be overwhelming to Lovi, who, despite his age, was so new to the novelty of friendship. It was enough to say what he had, Lovino had calmed down, and that was all he needed at the moment.

"Lovi?" Antonio asked after a while, he could see the boy's head nodding precariously in his periphery, apparently being lulled to sleep by the quiet crunching of tires against gravel and the whistle of the brisk wind against the car windows.

"Hn?" Lovino asked tiredly, failing to hide the lethargy in his voice.

"I made a promise for you, so I want you to make one for me." He said, unsure if the Italian was awake enough to comprehend what he was saying.

Lovino yawned into the back of his wrist and straightened up in his seat, "What am I supposed to be promising to?"

"Don't call yourself a charity case anymore," Antonio said immediately, afraid if he waited too long he might lose the boy's attention. "I don't like it, and it's not true."

Lovino shrugged, uncaring. Even if he didn't say it, Antonio couldn't stop him from thinking it. It was a stupid request, he thought, but deep down he knew he wasn't in a position to lecture anyone on unrealistic ideas. "Whatever," he acquiesced, letting his forehead fall softly into the cold glass of the door window.

"Seriously?" Antonio asked, shocked that he was allowed his wish without a fight.

"Hm," Lovino grunted in agreement, closing his burning eyes against the steady stream of the ac. He reached forward and turned the vent away from him, watching wordlessly when Antonio immediately lowered the blast. "Leave it," Lovino yawned again, his tiredness outweighing his embarrassment in letting the Spaniard watch him sleep, "you're the one that has to stay awake."

Antonio nodded appreciatively and turned the knob up a few notches, still refusing to reach the air's previous speed.

Lovino peeked his eyes open, watching wistfully at the way the streetlight's orange globes of light whizzed past the car, revealing a splattering of lazily shining stars in its wake. "Hey, Antonio," he said after a while, wincing slightly at the way his sleep-laden voice broke the car's comfortable silence.

"Yeah?" Antonio asked, not turning his gaze from the road.

Lovino reached his forefinger ahead of him, indicating a pink slip of paper jammed underneath the windshield wiper, flapping furiously against the windshield. "You have a parking ticket."


	17. Chapter 17

Lovino jerked his head up, withdrawing a sharp breath when he felt the car ease into a stop. He blinked away the sleep blurring his vision and waited for his mind to catch up with his eyes. He couldn't remember falling asleep, he recalled the steady roar of wind rushing against the windows and the subtle orange flash of passing street lights, but he didn't recollect ever truly dozing off. He arched his back against the soft leather seat in an effort to stretch his stiff muscles, slowly lifting his chin from his chest to tiredly regard the nearing silhouette of his dorm building. If he had slept, he decided, it must have been lightly, because he felt more tired now than he had before. His mind buzzed numbly with lethargy and if not for the fact that he knew Antonio couldn't have driven all that way in just a few minutes, he would have sworn he had been awake throughout the entirety of the trip.

"You awake?" Antonio asked quietly.

"Yeah," Lovino croaked back, his voice dry from the blasting ac. "What time is it?"

"Still early, a little past 9," Antonio replied, smiling to himself as he glanced at the Italian's sleep-rumpled hair. "Did you want to stop and get something to eat before going back?"

Lovino yawned and turned his face towards the window so he could covertly wipe a line of drool from his mouth. "Nah, too tired."

Antonio withdrew a breath, opening his mouth to argue, but ultimately sighing in resignation. He wanted the boy to eat more; despite his best efforts, he knew Lovino hadn't gotten enough nutrition for the energy he had expelled, but he decided, as tired as Lovino was, arguing about it would be useless. Anyway, he determined, at least the Italian would be catching up on his rest, and that was consolation enough for the moment. Antonio flicked on his turn signal, slowly easing into the dormitory parking lot and pulling up to the curb. The pair sat quietly for a moment, both mentally grappling with the proper way to part in the awkward silence.

"Ah, we didn't get Feli anything," Lovino said finally, unconsciously reverting to his habit of averting focus to his brother whenever attention had been turned in his direction.

"Yeah," Antonio mumbled, nodding thoughtfully, "I guess not."

Lovino hummed in acknowledgment, nervously waiting for Antonio to offer his own closing sentiment before growing impatient and sighing. "Well, bye," he said unceremoniously, clicking off his seatbelt before wrenching the door open. Antonio nodded and down shifted into park, pulling off his own seatbelt before opening his door and lifting himself from his seat. "What are you doing?" Lovino asked as he peered at Antonio across the roof of the car.

Antonio slammed his door shut and blinked questioningly at the obviously weary Italian. "I was going to walk you to the dorm," he said matter-of-factly, shrugging his shoulders and smiling before walking in front of the car to close the distance between them.

"I don't need a freaking escort," Lovino growled, folding his arms across his upper chest and covertly sliding his hands into his armpits when a strong gust of cold air breezed past, haphazardly upsetting his already disheveled hair.

Antonio laughed and nodded, "I know you don't, I'm just worried you won't be able to lift your feet high enough to clear the stairs." He teased, unthinkingly reaching a hand out to brush the Italian's chestnut locks from his forehead.

Lovino didn't respond to the unexpected touch, either too distracted by his discomfort over the cold or by his exhaustion, and instead tightened his arms against his body, digging his chin into the collar of his vest in a bid to stay warm. "I'm fine," he grumbled, knitting his eyebrows in frustration. Antonio only shrugged in response, giving a disbelieving half smile. Arguing was useless, because no matter what reasoning Lovino offered up, the Spaniard was determined to see him safely into his dorm, and he wasn't willing to concede on the matter.

"Bastard," Lovino snarled when another strong breeze pushed it's way past his lithe body, chilling every inch of exposed skin. He glanced up at Antonio, making a show of rolling his eyes and sighing before finally trudging towards the dorm building, the older boy in tow. He told himself he would've argued the point, he would have stood on that sidewalk all night if it meant preserving his dignity, but the cold was too unbearable and he was exhausted. If he let Antonio accompany him without too much of an argument, then he wasn't losing the battle he reasoned, he was simply allowing the Spaniard to join him.

"It's really starting to get cold, huh?" Antonio asked conversationally as he loomed behind the grumpy Italian. Lovino scoffed back, the shivers running through his body enough to indicate his answer. He walked briskly across the well-worn brick pathway up to the dormitory lobby, silently thanking whatever deity aided him in not stubbing his foot on a loose stone and stumbling forward as he seemed to do so often. He let out a small sigh of relief when he made his way up to the glass double doors and yanked one open, too concerned with reheating his frozen limbs to notice when Antonio leaned across him to pull the door handle from his grasp and hold the passageway open for the two to enter.

Lovino dug his hand in his pants pocket for his ID while Antonio strolled idly around the lobby, casually reading the homemade posters hung up by some, in Lovino's opinion, over zealous students. "It smells like laundry detergent," Antonio observed while he peered at a flyer for a school-wide clothes drive.

Lovino nodded as he finally fished his ID out of his pocket and typed in his code, flashing the card in front of the scanner until it beeped and the lock clicked back. "The laundry machines are in the basement," he explained around a yawn, slipping his ID back into his pocket and pushing the heavy metal door open with his shoulder.

"That's pretty nice," Antonio replied, following the Italian into the stairwell. "Do you have to pay for them?"

Lovino grabbed onto the handrail for support, leaning all his weight against the long strip of metal as he lifted his heavy feet over each step. "Nah, but I don't use them anyway, they smell."

Antonio laughed knowingly, softly pushing the Italian up by the small of his back when his foot under-estimated the height of a step and his body tilted slightly backwards. "I've got laundry machines in my apartment, you can use them any time," Antonio teased, knowing full well Lovino would wear dirty clothes until they disintegrated rather than step foot in his home.

Lovino only snorted in reply, a reaction that in most would indicate disapproval, but in the often overbearing Italian was a surprisingly understated response. Antonio was shocked that he hadn't been reprimanded verbally, he wanted to press the issue, to find out if Lovino was indicating that he wouldn't mind visiting his apartment, but he knew better than to further irritate the boy with his cluelessness. The walk to the dorm ended all too quickly as Antonio considered when the proper time would be to ask Lovino to further his riposte. One second Antonio felt his eyes losing focus as he stared fixated at the way Lovino's hips swayed slightly as he walked, and the next he was standing in front of the thick wooden door.

"Well, are you going to leave now or what?" Lovino growled, peering expectantly up at the Spaniard.

Antonio smiled slightly and laughed, "I want to see you in," he replied, barely concealing his possessive streak.

Lovino rolled his eyes slightly, muttering an irritated "bastard" under his breath as he dug his slim fingers into his pockets. After a few awkwardly silent seconds, he pulled the small piece of metal from his jeans, grabbing the doorknob with his left hand and leaning his weight against it as he hurried to jam the key into the lock. His hands shook nervously under the pressure of Antonio's gaze, and the Italian cursed himself mentally when he once more tried, and failed, to hit his mark.

"Let me help," Antonio whispered next to the Italian's ear, making the smaller boy jump from the sudden proximity. Without waiting for a reply, the Spaniard slipped his warm hand over Lovino's, seemingly oblivious to the goosebumps that bloomed across the Italian's chilled flesh.

"Ah, n-no," Lovino argued as his mind snapped back into focus, knocking his shoulder loudly against the door as he wrenched his palm from Antonio's tentative hold. "W-what are you doing you bastard?" He snapped at the older boy, in his embarrassment, momentarily forgetting his proximity to potentially sleeping neighbors.

"Ssh" Antonio placated quietly, slipping a forefinger in front of his lips while reaching out with his other hand to retrieve the key from the flustered Italian.

Lovino jerked his hand out of reach when the Spaniard's calloused fingertips brushed his knuckles, opening his mouth to argue when the key slipped from his grip to the carpeted floor. "So clumsy," Antonio chuckled lightly, placing a hand on Lovino's shoulder to avoid once more hitting the boy in the eye as he bent down to swipe up the lost item. He straightened back up, letting his hold linger longer than necessary as he studied the soft features of the young Italian's face before the sound of the lock turning interrupted his thoughts.

"Ve~what's going on?" Feliciano asked, poking his head out of the door to peer at the blushing pair.

"N-nothing," Lovino responded quickly, shrugging Antonio's large hand from his shoulder and yanking the key from his hold. "The bastard just wanted to wish you goodnight," he lied, brushing past his brother into the safe confines of his dorm. Lovino slumped onto his bed, vaguely listening to the exchanged pleasantries between his brother and the Spaniard as he took deep breaths, trying to still his thundering heart. Finally he registered the sound of goodbyes being made, and tried not to let his heart sink when the sound of Antonio's retreating footsteps sounded from the hall.

"So fratello," Feliciano said as he slid the door closed and turned the lock, "how was your date?"

"It wasn't a date," Lovino cut in immediately, hardening his face into a scowl and climbing off his bed to trudge to his dresser, "and it was horrible."

"Why's that?" Feliciano persisted, sitting on his desk chair and resting his chin on his arms as he watched his brother change. "Is it because you didn't get a goodbye kiss?" He asked, smiling with amusement at the way his brother froze in the act of buttoning his night shirt and patches of red bloomed in his cheeks.

"Of course not," Lovino nearly yelled, fastening the last button and turning to pull his pants from the open drawer. "It's because I had to spend time with that idiot Antonio."

Feliciano let out a short chuckle of understanding, starting to rock his chair back and forth as he persisted, "he's not that bad, and he really likes you."

"Likes annoying me maybe," Lovino returned, pushing the drawer closed with his butt once his pants were on, "and stop doing that, you'll fall." The older Italian stared at his brother as he nodded and stopped his rocking, finally registering how odd it was that he would be in the dorm, alone, so early on the weekend. "What are you doing here anyway?" He asked as he moved to the bathroom, pulling out his toothbrush and adding a generous glob of toothpaste while he waited for a response.

"Ve~ what do you mean? Am I not allowed to be here?" Feliciano peered at his brother through the open doorway, innocent curiosity tinging his voice.

"You know what I mean, idiota," Lovino grumbled around his toothbrush, leaning against the doorframe as he regarded his brother. "Don't you have plans or something?"

The younger Italian smiled sweetly and shrugged, "I did but they got cancelled."

"Cancelled?" He reiterated, spitting minty foam into the sink and rinsing his mouth out a few times before returning to the bedroom for an explanation.

"Ve~I was going to go out with a friend but he got sick, it's an honest excuse Lovi, you don't have to get mad," he added quickly when a frown formed on the older's face and he folded his arms across his chest. He didn't want to lose his newly found freedom to make friends, not over something as simple as a poorly-timed cold.

Lovino slumped on his bed, studying his brother's face, determined to find any flicker of sadness that would require he step in and put an end to the blossoming relationships his brother was making outside of his watchful eye. He couldn't help but note the tinge of disappointment he felt when he realized there were none. His brother was okay, maybe even happy, and he had remained that way without Lovino's help. He wondered if he had imagined that his presence was important to the younger boy, that maybe all these years he had only been fooling himself into believing he was essential in the life of any one person.

He jumped when he felt cold fingers trace his temple, he didn't remember seeing his brother move, but now he was right in front of him, fretting over his bruised eye. "Ve~what happened?" Feliciano questioned, brushing Lovino's unruly brown tendrils away as he studied the slightly swollen injury.

"It's nothing," Lovino sighed, pushing his brother onto his bed by his chest before climbing to his feet and digging in his dresser for a washcloth. "Just that stupid Antono," he added absentmindedly before kneeling in front of the tiny freezer of the mini fridge.

"He didn't hit you?" Feliciano asked softly, concern knitting his voice.

Lovino only scoffed, pulling a thoroughly frozen fudgesicle from the freezer before shrugging and wrapping it in the rag. "Of course not," he laughed, slightly amused at the thought of the air-headed Spaniard raising a fist to anyone. He pressed the make-shift compress to his temple and slumped back onto his bed, brushing shoulders with his brother. "It was just a stupid accident caused by a stupid person."

Feliciano nodded in understanding, leaning back until his back met the wall, then letting his head flop over onto Lovino's bony shoulder. The two sat that way for a while, both silently questioning whether they had failed each other, Lovino for leaving Feliciano alone, and Feliciano for not being there when Lovino had been injured. "Go to your own bed, I'm tired," Lovino growled after a while, letting his body flop to the side and playfully kicking his brother away.

"Ve~but fratellooo," Feliciano countered, dodging the older Italian's swinging feet and snuggling into the space between his brother and the wall. "Can't I sleep in bed with you like when we were little?" He teased, nuzzling his nose into the pillow.

"Hell no, these bed are tiny," Lovino protested, his unmoving body portraying his real feelings on the matter. He felt he had been letting his brother down ever since arriving at the school and allowing Antonio to weasel his way into their lives. If he had truly tried to vanquish the Spaniard from their little network-had honestly wanted to do it- it would've been done days ago. He felt selfish knowing that Feliciano was sitting in an empty dorm while he was galavanting around with Antonio, fooling himself into believing he was doing something admirable and for anyone's benefit but his own.

He felt Feliciano's breath on his neck, slowly evening out with every passing minute. "Fine, you can stay," he mumbled, tempted to pat the boy tenderly on the head, but instead rolling over and clamping his eye shuts, willing his mind to pull itself from its troubles.

* * *

Lovino kept his eyes shut as his mind shifted into focus, trying to determine if he could fall back asleep before ultimately giving up and rolling over to his clock. '9 am' he registered mentally, pulling himself into a sitting position. He wondered when sleeping in had become any time other than past noon while padding to the bathroom. He pulled the shower faucet to warm, peering out into the empty dorm one more time before pulling his pajama shirt over his head and easing the elastic band of his pants off his slim hips. He didn't bother closing the door, he and his brother had never been particularly modest, at least not when it came to each other. He stepped under the warm torrent of water and closed his eyes as it drummed against the back of his slightly throbbing head. The warmth was hypnotizing, and if not for the constant nagging in the back of his head that work needed to be done, Lovino was sure he could remain engulfed in that steamy heat for hours.

"Lovi," a slightly muffled voice sounded from the bathroom door, making Lovino groan slightly from the interruption of the first peaceful moment he had had since arriving to this bothersome school.

"What?" He replied, his voice sounding harsher than he intended.

"I brought you some breakfast from the cafeteria, whenever you want it," the cheerful voice replied. "I'm so glad I didn't miss you," he added sweetly.

"Sure, thanks," Lovino replied hesitantly, grabbing a shampoo bottle from the floor and emptying a generous amount into his palm. He was grateful to his brother for choosing to bring him back food, rather than wake him up, but acknowledging that fact also meant admitting that his brother was taking care of him, rather than the reverse, and he was far from willing to abandon his post as caretaker in their relationship. Lovino scrubbed the flowery foam into his scalp, vaguely wondering when he had started to equate being cared for as an apparent weakness in character. It wasn't that he felt that way about his brother, however. This, like so many other things, only applied to himself. If he couldn't manage on his own, it meant he was lacking something-it was a concept he accepted without question, as if he were born knowing it.

Lovino slammed his hand against the faucet, shuddering when the hot water halted suddenly, only trails of quickly cooling water left tracing his pale flesh. He shivered slightly and pushed the shower curtain aside, grabbing a towel from the rack and quickly rubbing it through his sopping hair before fastening it around his waist. His bare feet slapped against the damp linoleum as he padded back to the dorm, ignoring his brother's giggles at his uncombed hair while he rifled around his closet for anything even remotely clean and wearable. He picked a pair of jeans off the floor and sniffed, secretly happy his brother couldn't see his actions from inside the closet as he deemed them clean enough and slipped them on. He pulled down one of his few remaining shirts, upsetting the rack and sending a high pitched symphony of clanging empty hangers sounding through the dorm.

"Ve~you need to do your laundry, fratello," Feliciano scolded lightly, padding into the bathroom for a brush while Lovino sat down on his bed and finished buttoning his red flannel shirt.

"Like I don't know that, bastard," he grumbled, leaning over to grab the plate of food from his desk and taking a bite from a large blueberry muffin.

"Well you should do it today, what do you have planned?" Feliciano asked, ignoring his brother's foul mood as he sat next to him and started gently easing the brush through the older Italian's matted and tangled hair.

Lovino shrugged and took another large bite of muffin, "work on some new prints, I guess," he said after swallowing. Something pulled at the back of his mind and made his heart beat painfully in his chest, something was missing, he realized with slight panic, he must have forgotten something he was supposed to do, but he had no idea what it could possibly be. He mindlessly finished the muffin, mentally ticking off his schedule while his brother silently combed his hair. It must be nothing, he determined after a while, satisfied that his deadlines were still far off and none of his students had signed up for Sunday tutoring, but his heart still beat heavily, a side affect of a day of work wasted he decided eventually.

"What about you?" Lovino asked, pulling his head from his brother's grasp and padding to his dresser to locate a pair of clean socks, "don't you have work to do?"

Feliciano cocked his head to the side in confusion, "ve~of course, fratello," he replied easily, his stress-if he possessed any-completely undetectable.

Lovino stuffed his feet into his loafers, letting out an irritated "tch" when one of the heels folded under his foot. "Then what the hell are you doing here?" He demanded.

"I wanted to see you before going," Feliciano smiled, walking back to the bathroom to deposit the brush.

"That's stupid," Lovino scoffed, rolling his tense shoulders a few times before sighing and heading to the door. He paused when his hand was on the doorknob, turning around to regard his brother. "Well, are you coming?" He asked expectantly.

Feliciano smiled brightly, lifting his satchel from the floor before trailing behind the older Italian, "you mean we can walk together, fratello?"

"Dammit, stop being an idiot," Lovino growled, his avoidance of the question enough to indicate his answer.

Feliciano nodded eagerly, following his brother out of the dorm building before breaking into a short monologue about his professors and his students and how fun he was finding his assignments. Lovino nodded occasionally, depositing one-word answers wherever necessary, completely contented with letting the attention turn off him and onto the younger Italian. He couldn't help but feel a twinge of remorse when they parted ways at the staircase, Feliciano pulling him into a quick embrace before waving and heading up the third floor painting room.

Lovino lingered in the stairwell, wondering if the thing he thought he had forgotten earlier was to spend time with his brother. He was feeling at peace for the first time in a while, but soon the familiar pounding in his chest returned and he trudged to the print room, convinced it really was the anticipation of getting work done that was bothering his unconscious.

The morning passed slowly for the older Italian, he had an odd sense of calm that could only have been a result of finally receiving a full night of sleep and a decent meal. He rolled out a fresh piece of mylar, carefully painting on India ink and fanning his hand over it in a bid to dry faster. He leaned back in his seat and let his eyes wander to the foggy outdoors, for the first time since arriving at the school his work was progressing smoothly and on time, but he didn't feel completely content. He still felt anxious, like something important was missing, and it refused to leave him in peace.

Groaning quietly in frustration, Lovino pulled his knees up, leveraging them against the table so he could lean back further in his chair and run his hands through his freshly combed hair. He closed his eyes and let the sound of the next room over's ticking clock lull him into a trance. His mind wandered from Roderich to Elizabeta, he wondered if the house was too quiet without he and his brother there, if the pair were still getting along well without the Italians to distract them. He thought about his professor and the show he had been coerced into helping with, pondering how he was going to survive a night of trying to be social and mentally noting to try to find a way out of it later. He thought about his brother, and how happy he seemed, how he was thriving so well without him, but he didn't linger on that thought, determined to have at least one day that didn't involve him mentally berating himself from morning to night. And then, despite his best efforts not to, he thought about Antonio. How his face brightened when he smiled, the way the skin next to his eyes scrunched together when he was embarrassed, how his hands were so big and strong and his soft hair bounced around when he walked, and how when he said he cared about Lovino, it seemed like the most genuine and natural thing in the world.

Lovino's eyes flew open and his feet thumped unceremoniously to the ground. He cursed himself mentally for letting his mind wander into forbidden territory while willing his lecherous heart to still it's racing speed. He had known it all along but had been unwilling to admit it, whether from obstinance, shame, or both: the thing that was lacking was Antonio. It was terrifying to realize that he had already become so dependent on the boy, and he wondered how he had afforded himself the luxury of not realizing it for so long, but what scared him most wasn't the recognition of his reliance, but the fact that he didn't care. He knew he was weak, and he knew that what he was doing was dangerous, but all Lovino wanted to do at the moment was to be near the Spaniard. He didn't need a relationship with him, he assured himself, he just needed to hear his voice, to see his face and know that last night wasn't the last time he'd be in his company.


	18. Chapter 18

Lovino chewed his lower lip as he tried to focus on the sheets of transparency in front of him. His heart thumped heavily against his chest, whether from anxiety over his slow pace or from desire to be with Antonio, he didn't know, nor did he wish to. What he wanted was for his fingers to stop trembling long enough for him to render a clean line, for his fickle emotions to bow to his will for once, instead of overriding every center of logic his brain possessed.

He dipped his brush into a bottle of India ink, watching oily droplets fall from the blackened bristles before holding his breath and moving over a fresh piece of mylar. His fingers moved smoothly and surely, guided by his practiced wrist, until a rogue vision of curly hair bubbled in the recesses of his mind, making his heart shudder and his grip twitch fretfully to the side. "Shit," he uttered for what seemed the hundredth time, slamming his ink brush on the table while angrily eyeing the contorted line. He breathed deeply for a moment, waiting for his irritation to abate, and when it didn't, he pushed the marred transparency off the table, vaguely enjoying the sound of it crumpling abject on the ground as he slumped heavily into his seat.

Lovino sighed and leaned back in the chair, rubbing his palms over his eyes, wincing only slightly from the pain in his bruised socket. "This needs to stop," he mumbled vaguely, letting his arms fall to his sides so he could stare at the brittle afternoon light seeping lazily through the studio window. The solitude, while usually so coveted, was making it impossible for him to leave his own head. It wasn't his slow production rate he was worried about though, at least not completely.

"Stop," Lovino shouted louder than he intended while slamming his fists on the table. It didn't seem to matter what he did, he couldn't get the bastard Spaniard out of his head. Every thought was infected with his over-zealous presence, every stimuli tainted by one of the few memories he had of him. 'This is ridiculous,' he tried to rationalize internally, 'I'm officially losing it, I must be, it doesn't even make sense to feel this way, I don't even know this guy.' And he didn't, not really, because no one was so nice or so forgiving, everyone harbored a secret side of themselves that you only became privy to after repeated exposure.

'So that's it then,' he determined finally, scooping up his materials before he had a chance to change his mind. He tossed the sloppily inked mylar into his flat file before recapping the bottle of India ink and throwing it in, too. He rushed to the sink in the adjoining room to clean his brush, worried that if he lingered in one spot too long, allowed logic the slightest chance to catch up, that he would over-examine his intentions and chicken out. He turned the faucet to full blast, ignoring the rogue splatters of water that dotted his clothing as he held the ink-laden bristles under the heavy stream. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, impatiently waiting for the dark splotches of water to clear before twisting the water off and pulling a paper towel from the dispenser to dry the sopping brush.

He clamored back through the doorway, barely making it into the room before throwing the still-dripping paintbrush into his flat file and slamming it shut on his way to the hall. He fingered the dorm key in his pocket, desperate to occupy himself with any stimuli that would allow him to keep his looming thoughts at bay. Lovino didn't need to rely on his mind, his body knew his intentions, and it carried him mechanically into the brisk autumn air, up the stuffy dorm stairs, and into his closet to deposit mounds of clothes into an empty hamper without him ever having to engage it. Lovino ran a hand through his hair, and let his hands rest on his hips as he caught his breath. He allowed himself a brief moment to appraise his work before moving to lift the mass of laundry, leveraging the hamper on his knee as he wrenched the door open and squeezed past the narrow opening into the hall, for once neglecting to lock the door in his hurry to make it back to the art building.

He felt the weight of his cell phone in his pocket and secretly wished he had stowed Antonio's number in his contacts after their first encounter, rather than ripping the paper to shreds as soon as he was out of the Spaniard's sight. Then again, he decided as he struggled his way through another doorway and headed unthinkingly toward the basement, maybe it was good to take Antonio off guard. If he wasn't expecting to see the older Italian, he wouldn't have time to apply his amiable veneer.

The rhythmic scuff of Lovino's soles against the linoleum floor ceased suddenly, shocking even their source as he waited for his mind to catch up with his body. He carefully lowered his hamper to the ground, eyeing the name on the door he stood before as if it would attack him if he were to avert his gaze. 'Francis,' his mind registered, sending a subtle shiver through his tense shoulders. He almost chickened out then, the gravity of his decision and the various uncomfortable possibilities it presented finally registering amidst his tumultuous thoughts. But his fist met the hard wood of the door without his guidance, the knocks echoing ominously in his ears as if nails in a coffin. Lovino held his breath when the last rap petered off, letting the stowed air seep slowly through his lips when only silence met him for a few blessedly long seconds. He allowed himself to indulge in the idea that his plan had failed and that, by no fault of his own, he wouldn't have to go out of his way to spend his afternoon with an annoying Spaniard.

But a muted clang from the depths of the small room pulled the forming smirk from his lips, exchanging itself with the tension that had only just begun the process of retreating his leaden limbs. "Hold on," an accented voice sounded, accompanied by the whining of wooden furniture being pushed across linoleum flooring. Lovino took the moment to steel his resolve, wetting his lips nervously as he glanced down at his laundry basket and back to the shifting doorknob. The Italian backed up to the wall when a blonde head poked itself from the doorway, open only enough to allow his shoulders access to the hall as his eyes knowingly measured the boy in front of him.

"Lovino, what brings you here?" Francis asked, a lazily concealed cockiness tinting his words.

Lovino scoffed at the self-assured way the Frenchman quirked his eyebrow, "I need a ride," he spat finally, nodding his head towards the pile of clothes still resting next to the door.

"Are the laundry machines in your dorm not working?" Francis pressed, his brash mannerisms becoming more apparent as the conversation persisted.

Lovino considered lying, just to end the dialogue as quickly as possible, but instead he shook his head and screwed his face into what he hoped looked like indignation, "look, will you help me or not?"

"No need for that," Francis waved a hand, unfazed by the Italian's temper, "there's a laundromat within walking distance, there was a map in the paperwork I gave you earlier this semester."

Lovino stared angrily at the opposite wall, biting the inside of his cheek as his mind raced for an excuse. The awkwardness of the lengthening silence wasn't lost on him, but the weight of his admittance rested heavy on his tongue, the words too cumbersome to transmit easily.

"Well, if that's all," Francis broke the still air finally, starting to sink into the depths of his studio before a garbled cry ceased his retreat.

"Ah," Lovino bit his lip, the awkward noise he had made echoing relentlessly in his mind while he felt blood rush into his cheeks. "I need a ride to Antonio's," he managed finally, mercilessly aware of how ridiculous he must look, like a schoolgirl with a crush.

Francis quirked an eyebrow, a salacious grin twitching in the corner of his mouth, "what was that?" He pressed, amused by the discomfort the admittance was causing the Italian.

Lovino dug his nails into his palm in a bid to abate his anger, "I don't have money for a laundromat," he clarified, jaw tensing with the desire to grind his teeth. "Antonio said I could do my laundry at his place."

"If it's an issue of money, I could always loan-" Francis teased, words dying in his throat when he spotted the bloodlust glistening in the other boy's hazel eyes. He laughed through his nose, "how could I stand in the way of love," he winked, disappearing into his studio to grab his keys. If Lovino heard the whisper of another man's voice coming from the small space, he didn't focus on it, too relieved at having made it through the most embarrassing part of his plan, ego relatively still intact. He picked his hamper of clothes from the ground as Francis squeezed his way through the doorway, gently closing the door before placing a hand on the small of Lovino's back, guiding him down the hall to the parking lot.

Lovino jerked away from the unwanted touch, turning his head from the Frenchman, face contorted in a deep scowl. "What's wrong with your door," he grumbled, wondering why he was even bothering to try and converse with the perverted man.

Francis smiled wistfully and cocked his head to the side, holding the door open for Lovino before answering. "Well, the space really is too small for a bed," he replied cryptically.

Lovino scoffed indignantly, muttering something about perverts as he thumped his heavy basket in the backseat of Francis' car, slamming the door harder than necessary before falling gracelessly into the passenger seat, folding his arms in front of his chest as soon as his seatbelt was buckled. Francis paid no mind to his ill-tempered company, he accelerated down short back streets, completely mindless of the low speed limits, all the while prattling on about things that made Lovino flush in joint embarrassment and irritation.

"Does Antonio know you're coming?" Francis asked, the question glancing off the blockade of Lovino's subconscious before he realized he was meant to supply an answer.

"No," he said simply, pulling his arms tighter to his chest as he slumped in his seat.

"Is that wise, mon cheri? Antonio has obligations, too, you know."

Lovino glanced at Francis' neutral face, annoyed by the pang of guilt that strummed in his chest. "That bastard is always interrupting me when I'm working, he deserves it," the Italian spat, turning his face to the window with a huff. It was true, Antonio hadn't exactly helped his productiveness, at least not in any measurable way, and that was all beside the point anyway, because he wanted to be an inconvenience to the Spaniard. 'Not that that will be hard,' he thought to himself dryly, 'it seems to be my only characteristic lately.'

"Whatever you say," Francis leered knowingly, braking a little too abruptly as he pulled into the parking lot of the apartment complex. "That's Antonio's place," he said, gesturing to the door on the ground floor, nearest the car. Lovino mumbled a thanks and undid his seatbelt, pausing when he felt the weight of the Frenchman's hand placed uncomfortably high on his thigh. Francis used the moment of confusion to move in close to the Italian's ear, "but you know there's no reason to bother with Antonio when there is someone closer to home that would be happy to accommodate you," he purred.

"Pervert!" Lovino screamed, wrenching himself from the Frenchman's oppressive hold and piercing him with a murderous glare. Francis only laughed, delighted at having successfully gotten under the prude boy's skin.

"Lovi?" A familiar voice sounded from a few feet away, "and Francis? What are you two doing here?"

Francis continued giggling to himself as he lowered his window, leaning his shoulder out to smile at his friend, "Sorry for the noise, mon cheri," he winked, "enjoy your Italian." He called obscurely, checking to see that Lovino had removed his hamper before pulling out of the parking lot without further explanation.

"What's going on?" Antonio pressed, eyeing the fuming Italian.

Lovino chewed on his bottom lip, shoulders shivering in disgust every time he imagined Francis' hot breath on his ear. "Laundry," he said simply, not trusting his voice with anything but clipped responses.

"Ah okay," the older boy nodded, motioning Lovino towards his door, "why didn't you call?"

Lovino's heart skipped a beat, he had been expecting Antonio to be irritated with him, but some covert part of himself had hoped it wouldn't happen, that the Spaniard would prove there existed some bright spot to human nature. "I can leave if it's an inconvenience," he bit back, fully aware of how obnoxious he must sound.

Antonio only laughed, wiping his feet on the welcome mat before entering his home and holding the door open for the Italian. "It's not that, I just would've cleaned if I knew you were coming."

Lovino ignored the flood of relief in his chest as he looked around the small but cozy apartment. It suited the Spaniard perfectly, pictures of smiling faces littered the walls, accompanied by trinkets of his home country. Everything seemed soft and warm, as if the tenderness of the apartment's occupant had seeped into the very walls.

"Let me help you with that," Antonio easily lifted the bulky laundry basket from Lovino's arms, shocking the boy from his thoughts. "Did you want to sort these?" The older boy asked, motioning to the clothes in his hands.

"Ah," Lovino started, he hated to admit that, despite his appearance since arriving at school, he tended to air slightly on the vain side in regards to his attire. Somehow though, it seemed wrong to take advantage of the Spaniard's generosity, so he only shook his head, "I don't care." He lied, mentally cursing himself as soon as the words left his lips.

Antonio nodded and padded down the short hall to the right of the doorway, "you can go to the kitchen, I'll just toss these in for you," he called over his shoulder, not noticing the cringe that traced Lovino's face at the thought of his carefully selected wardrobe being 'tossed' anywhere.

The Italian walked hesitantly forward, following the warm light and spicy smell that he assumed were wafting from the kitchen. He smiled lightly when he realized he was right, allowing himself to purvey the items simmering on the stove, only to jump when a warm hand grabbed his elbow. "Have you had lunch?" Antonio asked, gentle voice heating Lovino's cheeks with it's proximity.

"N-no," the Italian stepped to the side, praying the older boy didn't notice his flushed face, "Not yet." He steeled himself, swallowing his trepidation as he reminded himself of his purpose in being there.

"Perfect timing then," Antonio grinned, stirring a pot of tomato sauce before spooning a small portion and blowing on it. "Will you try this for me, it's a new recipe."

Lovino backed up unconsciously, not making it far in the squat kitchen before bumping into a wall. "Why would I do that, bastard?" He scowled, "you're not trying to poison me, are you?"

Antonio blinked in confusion before tilting his head and laughing, "of course not," he giggled, "it's just that you're Italian so I thought you'd be the perfect person to ask for an opinion."

Lovino sniffed in mock indignation, in truth he was hungry, and the savory scent of perfectly cooked tomatoes was incredibly alluring."Fine," he acquiesced, leaning forward to take the spoon from the Spaniard. With the Italian's approval, Antonio thrust the utensil into the boy's slightly open mouth, not realizing Lovino's intention to feed himself. The younger boy jumped back in surprise, staring wide-eyed as bright red sauce dribbled down his chin onto his white shirt.

"Ah, Lovi, I'm so sorry~" Antonio wailed, dropping the spoon back in it's holder and grabbing a washcloth from the nearby sink. Lovino blinked down at his top, wondering why anger wasn't immediately setting in as the Spaniard slid a hand up the inside of his shirt and started vigorously rubbing at the crimson stains.

"Hey hey hey, stop," the Italian screeched when Antonio's knuckles brushed his cold stomach, "that's not helping." Antonio stared at the spreading orange blotches and pulled his hands away, tossing the washcloth in the sink and reaching to pull Lovino's shirt over his head. The Italian gave a decidedly unmanly shriek and crossed his arms over his chest in embarrassment, "the fuck are you doing?" He gasped, face heating to a maddening degree.

"We still have time to throw it in the wash with the rest of the clothes," Antonio explained as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, completely indifferent to the Italian's flustered state.

Lovino hesitantly straightened back up, desperate to regain any shred of pride he had left. "Right, but, what will I wear?" He mumbled, scowling when the older boy laughed at his uncharacteristic modesty.

"You can borrow something from me, it's not a big deal," Antonio winked, holding a hand out to take the soiled shirt from the Italian.

Lovino gave a clipped "hmph," in reply, keeping his eyes on the terracotta floor as he pulled the shirt over his head and handed it to the leering Spaniard.

"I'll be right back," Antonio grinned, leaning forward to brush the rogue streak of sauce from Lovino's chin and popping his thumb in his mouth before padding out of the kitchen to the laundry room.

Lovino waited till Antonio's back disappeared around the corner before silently collapsing against the wall, miming braining himself on the counter at his total lack of composure before straightening back up when he heard footsteps making their way back to him. "Here ya go," the Spaniard called casually when he reentered the kitchen, tossing a t-shirt to the smaller boy.

Lovino mumbled a thanks and pulled the shirt over his head, ignoring how embarrassingly large the top felt on his slight frame. He padded around to the other side of the bar, hoisting himself on a stool and leaning his head in his hands as he watched Antonio whiz expertly around the kitchen. "You never told me what you thought of the sauce." The Spaniard reminded when he settled in front of the stove, glancing between a pot of cooking noodles and Lovino's face.

"It was fine," the Italian responded quickly, not wanting to give Antonio the satisfaction of having him actually contemplate how truly amazing the taste was.

"Fine, huh?" Antonio chuckled, seemingly unbothered as he hummed an unfamiliar tune.

The two fell into a comfortable silence, only the faint bubbling from the stove and Antonio's occasional soft hums filling the space between them. Lovino felt his eyelids get heavy, he didn't want to admit it, but he just felt so damn comfortable, like he had known this place and the man across from him his whole life. He felt his chin dip and immediately jerked his head back up, searching Antonio's face for any sign that he had noticed him nodding off.

"Hey Lovi," the man said, not bothering to look up as he sprinkled what looked to be basil into the simmering pot of sauce, "if you want you can take a nap, I'll wake you up when the food is ready."

Lovino wanted to argue, just to be contrary, but he was tired, and the couch in the living room behind him was calling his name. "Fine," he muttered, "but don't try anything while I'm asleep, you tomato bastard," he tacked on for good measure.

Antonio tittered quietly at the new nickname, watching covertly as the Italian curled into a ball on the couch, cuddling a throw pillow to his chest. Lovino had barely laid down before he was completely passed out, and it seemed as if only a few seconds had passed before he felt calloused fingers brush the hair from his forehead. "-vi" a distant voice sounded. The gentle hand squeezed his shoulder and this time he recognized his voice being called again as he shifted into wakefulness. "Welcome back," a familiar tan face hovered in front of his blurry vision.

Lovino pushed himself into the cushions and hid his face behind his wrists, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "What time is it?" He murmured groggily, clearing his throat when his voice filtered weakly from his mouth.

Antonio glanced over his shoulder to spy the time displayed over the oven, "ah, almost 4," he said, rising from his crouched position and holding a hand out to hoist up the waking italian.

Lovino took the offered hand without thinking, stretching his arms over his head when he was in a sitting position. "You sure are a slow cook," he sneered, antagonistic disposition returning with his alertness.

"You could say that," Antonio shrugged. In truth he had finished cooking a while ago, but he had found he didn't have the heart to wake the sleeping boy. "What can I get you to drink?"

Lovino lifted himself from the couch and gave his sleep-matted hair a shake, "just water is fine," he managed around a yawn, treading towards the already set table. "It smells good," he said as Antonio plunked a glass in front of him, his groggy mind not yet alert enough to engage his filter.

"Thanks, I hope it tastes good," Antonio smiled from across the table, watching for Lovino to take a bite of pasta before he followed suit. The younger boy perked up when the flavorful food hit his tongue, he had eaten much pasta in his life, but Antonio's was so different, no ingredient fought any other, all the seasonings had life breathed into them. He didn't dare ask the Spaniard what his secret was, though, as he was sure "love" would be the answer. He rolled his eyes at the idea, even if some secret part of him could start to believe it.

"Yum," He said noncommittally, taking a sip of water while he pretended not to notice Antonio's face light up as if he had told him the pasta was the best thing he had ever eaten. Although, he considered as he twirled some more noodles on his fork, it may very well be true.

"I'll admit I was trying hard to impress you," Antonio grinned after swallowing a mouthful of noodles.

Lovino stole a glance in the Spaniard's direction, he wanted to ask why he would bother, but gave a disinterested "hn" instead. "It should be good after how damn long you took to make it."

"Well, cooking is what I love," Antonio shrugged, seemingly unbothered by the Italian's rudeness.

"But you go to school for it, don't you just want a break sometimes?" Lovino pressed.

"Uuum," Antonio responded, tilting his head upwards as he considered his response, "no, not really. I guess I get tired sometimes, but I never feel like it's a chore to cook. I mean, I wouldn't be going to school for it if I hated it."

"I can't relate," Lovino bit back, instantly regretting the words as soon as they left his tongue.

"In what way?" Antonio pushed, mindlessly twirling noodles on the tines of his fork as he studied the Italian's face.

"It's not important," Lovino corrected, "stop trying to play therapist."

Antonio leaned back in his seat, "you're right, I'm sorry, I just worry."

The Italian gritted his teeth at the stupidity of the statement, at the very idea that one could worry about an individual they had only just met. He glared at Antonio, taking in the slightly darker patches of skin under his eyes, barely perceptible on his tan complexion. The Spaniard may claim to love what he was doing, and he didn't doubt that to be true, but the boy was still human, and there was no way the time he had taken to tend to Lovino hadn't affected his schedule in at least some way. "I have a guardian for that, and a brother, it's not your responsibility." Lovino replied, agitated at having to admit to being a burden.

"It's not about responsibility, when people love you, they worry about you," Antonio chuckled.

Lovino scowled at the Spaniard's easy admittance. "Not from my experience," he shot back, aware that it was a lie as soon as he said it.

Antonio seemed unfazed by the confession, "I don't think that's true," he offered, not bothering to scold the Italian for his lie, but not letting him get away with it either. "And anyway," he started, pausing as he took a sip of water, "you worry about Feliciano, so I know you understand the concept."

Lovino felt his cheeks at ignite and he was filled with the sudden insatiable urge to run back to the safe solitude of the printmaking studio, where no one bothered to read his apparently unconcealed emotions. "Ah, the laundry!" He choked out suddenly, partly in a feeble attempt to change the subject.

"I already took care of it," Antonio shrugged, motioning to a basket of folded clothes positioned against the bar in the kitchen.

Lovino turned his head sharply to the basket, ashamed that he had left Antonio with the task of feeding him and doing his laundry, like he was his fucking wife. The connection made his flush darken, and he opened his mouth to scold the Spaniard for trying too hard, but all he managed to choke out was, "Bastard, there was underwear in there."

Antonio laughed heartily at that, and the rest of the conversation ran smoothly, sailing from cursory topics like school and the weather and whether tomatoes were a fruit or not. Lovino barely noticed the time ticking by as he stood with suds up to his elbows, only managing to shatter one of Antonio's glasses, which, he thought smugly, might be a new record for him. When the pressure of his impending work load became too much to continue to ignore, Antonio offered to drive him back, and Lovino didn't refuse, the memory of his time with Francis still sending waves of unabated anger down his spine.

When the familiar sight of his dorm building closed in, Lovino felt a weight in his stomach. He wanted to believe it was from exasperation at still not discovering anything about Antonio worth hating, but he knew it was because he wasn't yet ready to part with the boy, a thought that made his stomach churn. Antonio rolled up to the curb and downshifted into park, staring expectantly at the unmoving Italian. "Lovi?" He asked, when the boy didn't seem to acknowledge their arrival.

"Three meals," the boy muttered quietly, the ambiguity of the statement making Antonio blink, mouth agape.

"I don't under-"

"You can bring me food, but only three meals a week." Lovino clarified, leveling a serious stare at Antonio to emphasize his seriousness.

"But it's not a bother-" Antonio started in, only to be cut off once more.

"I don't care, say what you want but I know your workload is a lot. You're lucky I'm letting you bring me food at all. Three meals." He reiterated.

Antonio's soft lips quirked into a knowing smile, "only if you make time to eat, and take a nap every day." He negotiated.

Lovino rolled his eyes and scoffed, "fine, bastard." He relented, "I'll try."

"Then it's a deal." Antonio gave a thumbs up, giggling when the Italian rolled his eyes again and opened the car door, moving to exit the seat.

"Hey, Lovi," he called, grabbing the boy by the hem of his freshly-washed shirt and pulling him back inside the cab. He pressed a kiss to the side of his face, warm lips brushing against the corner of Lovino's mouth, "thanks for caring," he said softly before the Italian gave a garbled screech and scrambled into the cool autumn air.

"Perverted bastard," the boy fumed, rubbing his wrist furiously across the tainted spot. Antonio laughed heartily at the action, watching affectionately as the Italian pulled his clothes from the backseat and stomped to the studio without bothering to say goodbye. After all, Lovino hadn't denied the accusation, and that was something was a start.


	19. Chapter 19

Lovino stretched his arms behind his back, pulling at the pinched muscles in his shoulders before slumping forward, lowering his elbows back on the table. After making it back to the studio he had felt rejuvenated, fueled by the nourishment and rest he had finally received, and had decided to work through the night to make-up for time lost. The evening had been productive, he had completed a new silkscreen, applied a thick coat of tar-like hardground to a zinc plate, and had begun to grain a litho stone before the weak autumn sun started to filter through flat-bottomed purple clouds. But now, as he sat carving thin lines into his etching plate, he felt the work of the night catching up with him. His eyes and neck burned from lack of sleep, and his limbs vibrated from overuse.

Lovino rolled his shoulders one more time before sighing and pushing his chair from the table, rising wearily to his feet and clomping heavy-footed to the adjoining room. He stole a glance at the clock as soon as it was in view. '7:30,' he registered mentally, his tired mind having trouble piecing together his intentions. He wandered back to his work table, nodding awkwardly when he met eyes with a member of the cleaning crew. 'I have time to catch a couple hours of sleep before classes start," he determined, vaguely wondering if two hours of sleep after staying up all night could be classified as a nap.

Not that he cared to keep his side of the promise with Antonio, he reprimanded as he gathered his loose items, depositing them carelessly into his messy flat file. He looked around the room with his finger on the light switch, trying to remember if he had forgotten anything, before spotting his laundry basket of folded clothes resting forgotten under the table. He turned off the light anyway and went to gather it up, the weight sitting heavier in his over-used arms than it had the previous day. Lovino ran his tongue over his teeth as he trudged down the hall toward his dorm, fantasizing at how nice it would feel to brush his teeth and change into fresh clothes. He pushed his back against the door when he reached the end of the building, smiling lightly at the crisp morning air, the faint musky scent of cold bark and soil intermingling with the floral fragrance of fresh laundry.

The air was cold but felt good against his burning eyes, and the barely lightened earth was painted in soothing shades of blue. For a moment he was able to forget about his workload, about his self-enforced obligations and perceived shortcomings, but the feeling was regrettably short-lived as he made his way into the comparably stifling dormitory. Lovino's heartbeat picked up double time as he marched up the stairs to the second floor, seemingly making up for the short moments of peace it had only just allowed him. His anxiety only increased as he passed through the door into his hall, he could hear voices, and, despite having no context to believe they were related to him in any way, his palms started to sweat profusely and he felt his pulse racing in the back of his head.

His fears were confirmed when he made it to the dorm, the door propped open with a chair while his brother and two unfamiliar men conversed. "What's going on?" Lovino asked dumbly, mouth drying out instantly as he let his laundry basket fall to the floor.

"Ah, Lovi~" Feliciano cried, tears tracing the corner of his eyes as he scrambled towards his brother, pulling him into a tight embrace. "We were robbed."

"What?" Lovino snapped as soon as the words processed in his whirling brain, "what do you mean we were robbed?"

"They took my laptop," Feliciano continued, distressed. "I was hoping that you had it."

"Wait, what are you-" Lovino grasped his brother by his shoulders and pulled him from his chest, desperately trying to piece the stimuli together in his sleep-deprived mind, "what are you saying?" He clarified, "what happened?"

"You must be the brother," a man, whom Lovino could now recognize as a campus safety officer, interrupted, placing a hand on Feliciano's shoulder and easing the boy away as he held a hand out to the older Italian.

Lovino took the hand in his, shaking it numbly before letting his arm fall to his side. "Lovino was it?" The man continued, clearly trying to gain control of the situation. The boy only nodded, finally allowing himself the opportunity to look around the ransacked room. "This sort of things happens pretty often, unfortunately," the officer explained, his voice a practiced mix of compassion and authority, "usually when the door has been left unlocked."

"I told him you always make us lock the door!" Feliciano interrupted, eyes starting to glisten with new tears as he grabbed onto the arm of the second stranger in the cramped room.

"Is that true, son?" The officer leveled a stare at Lovino, not bothered by the younger Italian's interruption. Lovino nodded again, not yet trusting his voice.

The man nodded and sighed, "I'm sorry about this boys, we'll do our best to catch these guys, but don't get your hopes up." A trace of a scowl flashed across his face, years of seeing bad people get away with their deeds obviously wearing on him, but he replaced it quickly with a look of cool detachment as he pulled a notepad out of his back pocket. "If I could get some details, it'll help the process along," he clarified before prattling off a few cursory questions.

Lovino slumped wordlessly onto his bed, the conversation in the room little more than distant static as he searched his memory of Sunday's events. He remembered going to the dorm to get his clothes, it was the last time he had been there that day, and, he realized with a pang of guilt as his stomach churned, he hadn't locked the door when he left. Tears pricked the periphery of his vision and he blinked them frantically away, mortified at the thought of allowing his brother or either of these two strangers the pleasure of seeing him breakdown.

"Alright, boys, I'll give you a ring as soon as we come up with anything," the campus officer called, giving one last practiced sympathetic look as he left the dorm, kicking the chair from the door to leave the group in solitude.

"I guess we should clean this mess," Feliciano said after a tick. "You don't have to stay and help, I know you're busy," he addressed the tall boy next to him, giving a small smile of appreciation as he rested a hand on his arm.

"Who the fuck are you?" Lovino croaked, shooting the pair a glare and inwardly thanking whatever deity existed for keeping his voice from shaking. "And why did this only get reported this morning?"

"Ah," Feliciano started, clearly flustered as he looked imploringly into the taller boy's eyes.

"I'm Ludwig," the boy said in a thick German accent, blinking down at Feliciano before turning solemnly to the older brother.

"Great," Lovino replied sarcastically, immediately understanding the subtext of that simple statement and dropping his head into his palms to massage his pulsing temples.

Feliciano stepped in at that, sitting next to his brother on the bed and rubbing a comforting hand on his back, "he's a sculpture student, he knows Francis." The younger boy clarified.

"Stop," Lovino growled through clenched teeth, "just stop. I don't care to know about the kid fucking my brother behind my back."

Both Italians shot their gaze up with the sound that came from Ludwig's side of the room. The serious boy stood with hands splayed defensively in front of his chest, sweat dotting his forehead. "You're mistaken," he said simply, suddenly noticing the ridiculousness of his pose and straightening back up into his previous tempered posture.

Feliciano giggled lightly and returned to rubbing his brother's back, "it's not what you think, Lovi," he confirmed, "when I came home last night from painting and saw the room like this, I thought you must have done it. I didn't think much of it."

"Why would I have done this?" Lovino asked, exasperated as he looked over the disarray of the dorm.

Feliciano only shrugged, "ve~your clothes were gone so I thought maybe you were looking for change for the laundromat."

Lovino dropped his head into his hands again, muttering off a string of curses as he shook his head slowly. He was frustrated at his brother, for his obliviousness to the world and it's wicked tendencies, but he was more angry at himself for allowing this to happen in the first place. He was supposed to be the mature one after all, he was older and he was supposed to protect his brother. All this time he had been worried about stupid things like love, when a very real danger had been present. After all, he thought, his stomach lurching, what if the criminal had still been there when Feliciano had come home. He pushed the accompanying images away, willing himself to breathe slowly when dots splayed across his wavering vision.

"Are you okay" Feliciano started, brushing soft fingertips on his brother's quickly paling skin.

"Well what is he doing here?" Lovino interrupted, pointing an accusing finger at Ludwig.

"I called him when-"

"I want him to tell me." Lovino broke in, eyes still leveled murderously at the tall blonde.

Ludwig nodded, seeming completely unfazed, "Feliciano called me this morning telling me the situation. He said you hadn't returned that night and he wasn't sure what to do, so I came to offer my advice. Obviously, when I saw the room as it was, I suggested we call the campus police." The boy prattled off in a measured authoritative way, not unlike the effortless composure the officer had displayed.

Lovino sighed and straightened up, accepting the answer for the moment as he stole a glance at his bedside clock. "I have class in an hour, let's start getting this place cleaned up," he said with a scowl, rising to his feet to straighten an upended chair. Feliciano nodded and followed suit, singing softly as he shuffled around the room, fixing things with the natural domestic touch he possessed. Ludwig remained to help, and between the three of them, the room was just about returned to its previous order by the time Lovino had to go, throwing threats at Ludwig to stay away from his brother as he jogged to the studio.

There hadn't been much taken, Lovino considered as he watched a group of students graining their litho stones. Feliciano's laptop had been the biggest ticket item, and while Lovino was glad both boys had had their wallets on them, he didn't know how he was going to begin to get the money to replace the computer. The two had barely scraped together the money to buy it the first time, and had only deemed it important to do so when the school had informed them that it was basically a mandatory item. "Necessary" was how they had worded it, but the older boy had failed to see the difference.

"That pass is done," he said to closest student when a thick gray foam formed under her levigator. He ignored her distracted "okay" and lifted a hand to massage his forehead. His head hadn't stopped pounding since the shock from the morning, now in his last class of the day with the sun setting behind red-capped trees, the pain seemed almost unbearable. "Dammit, when the foam is gray that pass is over!" Lovino shouted irritably, making his students jump and stare at him. A few giggles sounded from across the room and Lovino heaved a sigh and let his head fall back before straightening up again and brushing the hair from his eyes, "okay, that's enough for today. We'll finish on Wednesday." He said, trying and failing to make his weak voice sound authoritative.

The students shrugged and cleaned up their work, immediately breaking into inane prattle as they exited the studio. When the room had cleared, Lovino trudged to a table, slumping into the closest seat and resting his elbows on the the surface, his head held between his palms. He deserved this pain, he decided when the throbbing in his head worsened and his stomach rolled. He deserved it for being self-centered, for abandoning his work, his brother and his morals in order to pander to his most hedonistic needs. A knot formed in his throat, and he thought he might cry, but mercifully no tears came to his eyes.

Lovino tried to straighten up in his seat, only to crumple again when the florescent lighting of the studio reignited the pain in his temples and his vision wavered. "Fuck," he gasped miserably, disgusted at his helplessness. Some distant part of him wondered if Antonio would be coming by today, and he scolded himself as soon as the idea floated into his consciousness. He didn't want that bastard's help, he was sick of being a burden, sick of his own uselessness. Feliciano had flaws but he owned up to them, and his talents made up for it. Lovino, however, while possessing many of the same short-comings as his brother, lacked the humility to admit to them. 'And on top of that, I let us get fucking robbed,' the boy lamented internally, revolted by his own self-pity. How strange it was, he mused, to both hate yourself, and hate yourself for being self-centered enough to do so.

Lovino sucked on his lower lip, steeling himself against the throbbing in his head that had mutated into an annoying tapping noise in his ears. He had only begun to lift himself to shaky legs when he realized the tapping was footsteps, and they were heading his way.

"Lovi?" A distant voice sounded. Lovino turned his head up and blinked, the static in his vision making it impossible to recognize the face addressing him. The color had been sucked from his surroundings, and the other presence moved towards him in what seemed like slow motion as the Italian realized he was going to pass out. He opened his mouth to inform the approaching figure of that fact, only to buckle forward, bracing himself to meet hard linoleum before his vision turned black.

"-ay?" Lovino felt his mind stir into consciousness. "Hey, Lovi," a noise sounded, the Italian searched his mind, trying to remember what those words meant. "Open your eyes," the voice begged. His cognition became sharper with the desperate plea, and so he followed the command, only to wince when the light filled his pupils. The other figure, who he could now place as Antonio, turned his eyes to the heavens and sighed a few colorful curses before combing a hand through Lovino's tussled hair. "What happened? How do you feel?" He asked, worried but firm.

Lovino only blinked, the pain in his head distracting him from forming coherent thoughts. "Right," Antonio nodded solemnly, not wasting another moment before sliding a hand under the young Italian's legs and another behind his back. Lovino wanted to protest, but found he lacked the energy to do so.

The Italian closed his eyes for a moment, biting the inside of his mouth at the pain that flared every time his body was jostled. When he felt the chilled autumn air kiss his cheeks, he opened them again, shocked when he realized he wasn't being taken to his dorm like he had anticipated. "Where are you taking me, bastard?" He asked weakly, hoping the profane nickname would make up for his inability to sound sufficiently angry.

"The hospital," Antonio replied simply, not bothered by the sluggish profanities rattled off by his hostage.

"I don't need to go to the hospital you damn idiot," Lovino protested, trying to struggle against Antonio's hold but giving up when he realized the ineffectiveness of his efforts.

"You do," Antonio said, slowing down when he reached the side of his car. "I think you may be dehydrated," he added. "Do you think you can stand for a minute?"

Lovino nodded against the Spaniard's shoulder, supposing it was impossible to argue when he barely had the energy to hold himself upright in the short time it took Antonio to fish his car keys from his pocket and lower the Italian into the back seat. "I can sit in the front," Lovino protested when the older boy encouraged him to lie down.

"No, it's better back here," Antonio said gently, making sure Lovino was securely placed before hopping in the front seat and heading quickly, but gently toward the hospital. He stole a glance of the weary-looking Italian in the rearview mirror, noting with a pang of worry at how the pale his complexion had become. "Hey, are you still awake back there?"

Lovino grumbled back in response, gritting his teeth in a bid to not decorate Antonio's floorboard with the contents of his stomach. "We're almost there," Antonio encouraged, secretly thankful that the Italian had been too drained to put up much of a fight. The Spaniard flew around to the back seat as soon as he had pulled into a parking spot, participating in a small fight when Lovino had insisted he could walk on his own, but ultimately winning when the smaller boy's knees buckled as soon as he attempted to stand. The wait in the lobby had been mercifully short, and the doctor had only needed to hear Lovino's symptoms before determining that he was indeed dehydrated and fitting him with an iv when the Italian proved unable to hold a cup.

After receiving liquid, Lovino felt marginally better, he allowed his back to relax into the propped up hospital bed as the incoming liquid cleared out his stifling headache. Now that he could move without experiencing intense pain, embarrassment started to settle back into his mind, and he felt himself teetering on the edge of a breakdown every time a new attendant came, preaching to him as if he were a child about proper nutrition and being aware of one's body.

"Do you want me to call your brother?" Antonio asked when the most recent attendant fled, saying she'd be back in an hour to release him.

"No." Lovino said simply, determined that it was best for Feliciano to never know about this event.

Antonio "hm'ed" in understanding and turned his eyes to the ceiling, "so what happened to eating properly and taking a nap, anyway?" He teased lightly, jumping when he heard a stifled sob come from the bed next to him.

"H-hey, Lovi, no, I was kiddi-I don't care-I mean it's okay," he gasped out in a hurry, sending the plastic hospital chair clattering behind him as he rushed to the young Italian's side.

"S-stupid bastard," Lovino moaned around a sob, hiding his face in his hands as tears traced his heated cheeks. It was more aimed at himself than Antonio, but if the Spaniard thought he was being addressed, he was okay with that.

Antonio tried to pull Lovino's hands away from his face, eventually giving up when the boy's grip held firm. Instead he hoisted himself on the side of the bed, moving in close to the Italian in order to whisper nonsense words in his ear as he stroked a hand through the crying boy's hair. The motion reminded Lovino of his brother and made him feel sick, so he pushed the arm away, slumping further into himself.

Antonio dropped his hand without a fight and cocked his head at the boy, even for the sensitive Italian, this reaction seemed a little extreme for having failed in his promise to cease his workaholic tendencies. "What's going on?" He asked, bracing himself to be told off for prying, but pleasantly surprised when the Italian sniffed and let his shoulders slacken.

"We were robbed." The voice came out muffled and broken, but Antonio understood what had been said and nodded seriously.

"Is there anything I can do?" He asked.

Lovino let his hands fall into his lap and shook his head slowly, blinking away new tears that threatened to fall. "It's not that, idiot." He bit back, face reddening from the weight of his confession, "it's my fault, I left the damn door unlocked."

Antonio's eyebrows knit in sympathy, he wanted to tell the boy that it wasn't his fault, that bad people existed whether he left his door unlocked or not, but he knew it wouldn't be helpful, so instead he just rested a hand on the Italian's shoulder and sighed. "What did they take?"

"Feliciano's damn laptop," Lovino continued, unable to stop his tongue now that he had begun, "but it's not even that, I can replace that. It sucks, but I'll figure it out."

"Then why-" Antonio started.

"I'm just, dammit, I don't know." Lovino struggled to say the words, wilting under the weight of Antonio's eyes, "I'm just so fucking mad at myself."

"Because of the laptop?" Antonio asked, head tilted as he considered the Italian's words.

"No, fuck the laptop. I don't fucking care." Lovino shouted, wincing in shame when an attendant leaned a head in and shushed him. "It's Feliciano," he continued more quietly, "I could have put him in danger. I-" He stopped when fresh tears flooded his eyes and a knot bobbed in his throat. "I'm his big brother," he forced back a sob, "I've lost too much in life already. I can't lose him, too. I'd kill myself." He turned his head away from Antonio, shocked by his own admittance.

The Spaniard didn't respond, he didn't try to comfort him, to tell him he was wrong or crazy. Instead he just wrapped an arm around the boy's shoulders and held him close. Somehow, Lovino understood that the Spaniard wouldn't mention what had just been said, that it was a secret that would stay silent between the two of them, and rather than the food, or the comfort, or the cheerfulness Antonio had provided him, he thought that trust might be the best gift he had ever received.

"Are you okay?" Antonio asked for what felt like the hundredth time since Lovino had been released to go home.

"I'm fine, I'm fine, drop it already." Lovino rolled his eyes, resting his head between his seat and the window as he watched the glowing orange streetlights whiz by. "Guess I'm not going to be getting any work done tonight," he mumbled to himself miserably.

"No, Doctor's orders!" Antonio agreed, head bobbing happily.

"Yeah, yeah," Lovino groaned, rubbing his eyes as he watched the shadow of the approaching school. The Spaniard only tittered lightly at the dramatic display, familiar enough with the Italian that he knew the exasperation was more an act than actual irritation. "What, no curb service?" Lovino snapped his head from his hands when Antonio pulled into a parking spot.

The older boy downshifted into park and ran a hand through his unruly rocks, "well, I left my bag in the studio when-" he trailed off, not wanting to embarrass the already emotionally zapped Italian.

"Ah," Lovino said knowingly, ignoring the flush that he knew was trailing from the back of his neck to his ears.

"But I was going to walk you to your dorm anyway, so it's not a big deal," Antonio winked, ignoring the groan from the opposite side of the car as he unbuckled his seatbelt and hoisted himself from his seat.

"Hopefully no one stole it," Lovino said grimly as they trudged up to the deserted studio.

"Aw, Lovi," Antonio said simply, patting the boy on the shoulder. "Ah, see? Just as I left it." He smiled when he spied his bag, splayed across the table closest to the door.

"Whoopee," the Italian replied dryly, moving to pick up a few of his forgotten items and depositing them back in his flat file.

Antonio watched the Italian thoughtfully and looked down at his bag, "Hey Lovi, I understand if you're too tired, but it'd be a shame to let this food go to waste-" he trailed off.

Lovino leveled a blank stare at the Spaniard, and Antonio almost redacted his statement before the Italian shrugged and sighed, "might as well." He relented. He was tired, it was true, and his limbs felt like noodles, but Antonio had gone out of his way for him, had been there when no one else was, and though he didn't understand how his presence could be considered enjoyable, far be it from him to deny him of it.

Antonio's mouth spread into a wide grin and he quickly unzipped his bag, rifling through it for slightly dewey containers. "Oh, here Lovi," he said distractedly, tossing a folded cloth to the boy.

Lovino jumped slightly but caught the item, staring it up and down before he started to unfold it. He grimaced slightly at the ruffled edges and gaudy tomato pattern, "Wh-what is this?"

Antonio laughed and scratched his nose, "ah, it's an apron, y'know, so you don't stain any more clothes."

Lovino didn't respond, he sat blinking down at the tacky apron, mouth slightly agape. And before he knew it he was on his feet, grabbing a handful of the Spaniard's shirt and pulling the boy's soft lips into his own. Antonio gave a short gasp of shock and took a moment to regain his composure before sliding a hand behind Lovino's head, returning the kiss with all the force of his pent-up passion. He let his fingers become intertwined with the boy's soft locks, knees going weak as he became intoxicated by the scent, the smell, and the taste of the younger Italian. Finally they pulled away, staring breathlessly at one another before Antonio broke the silence, "so, I guess you like the apron?"

Lovino rolled his eyes and let his head fall against the Spaniard's chest, "idiot," he growled, faint smile tracing his lips.


	20. Chapter 20

Antonio quirked an eyebrow in confusion while watching Lovino sink into the nearest chair and start kneading his forehead. "So..." he prompted after a few silent minutes.

"So what?" Lovino snapped immediately, refusing to make eye contact.

"Uh," Anonio started again, sliding a chair next to the boy and slumping into it while he considered the best way to continue. "What-what did that mean exactly?"

Lovino cursed internally at the question, somewhat thankful that his weakened state was keeping his cheeks from becoming immediately inflamed. Truthfully, he knew why he had kissed Antonio, he loved the man, he was past denying it. But he wasn't ready to give up his semblance of order, his world was shifting wildly beneath his feet, upsetting everything he knew to be true, and his mind couldn't keep up. From the moment his mother had died, his purpose in life had been to keep his microcosm of life safe and unchanging. It wasn't healthy, he knew that well enough, but it was the only thing that made him feel sane. A small part of him wondered if he had really fainted from dehydration, or if it had been from the shock of finally seeing the physical manifestation of his brother's gradual departure from him. Or, his mind continued to spiral into shame, perhaps it was an attempt to guilt his brother into staying by his side.

Lovino shivered in disgust at himself, and Antonio, taking it as a chill, rested a hand on the slight Italian's shoulder, ducking his head so he could peer into the boy's face. "Lovi?"

"What, I'm fine, I mean-" Lovino shook his head slowly, trying to clear his thoughts, "I don't know." He admitted, curling his fingers into his hairline.

"You don't know what?" Antonio asked, slumping into his seat.

"I don't know what that meant. I'm-I mean I guess that I'm, sorry," he grimaced around the word, the corner of his lips quirking from his discomfort.

Antonio nodded silently and folded his arms over his chest as he considered his response. "Am I still allowed to bring you three meals a week?" He asked after a while, holding back a chuckle when Lovino's hands snapped up, eyebrows knit and mouth slightly agape with repulsion.

"Are you fucking kidding me? Why are you even putting up wi-" He straightened up, shaking his head as he reconsidered his words. "You know what, never mind, I don't even care. I don't want to know."

Antonio quirked his head, a devious smile on his lips, "put up with what?" He pressed.

"I said forget it," Lovino reminded firmly, "I'm done with talking, I want sleep."

"Okay, but Lovi?" Antonio asked, keeping a watchful eye as the Italian rose stiffly from his seat.

"What?" Lovino growled back, irritation setting in with exhaustion.

"Don't be mad," he warned, tossing items back into his knapsack before slinging the bag over his shoulder. "Am I supposed to pretend like that didn't happen?"

Despite the time Antonio had spent with the younger boy, he was unable to identify the look that was being leveled at him. It wasn't anger, he knew that for sure, nor one of the brief and beautiful moments of happiness. It wasn't sadness, thoughtfulness, embarrassment, anxiety, bemusement, or any of the other subtle and endearing emotions he had seen waver across the handsome Italian's face. No, if he had to name the look composed in those oddly familiar hazel eyes, it would be uncertainty.

Lovino didn't respond to the question, and for that Antonio was somewhat grateful. Words he had trouble with, he took them too literally, focused on them with too much intensity; but he could understand Lovino's face, a gift he prided himself on, as he seemed to be one of the few to possess the ability.

The Italian finally broke from his trance, making his way towards the hall and flicking off the light behind him, passively punishing Antonio for asking such a taboo question by plunging the boy into darkness. "Hey," the Spaniard called, jogging slightly to meet him, "you know, we really should tell Feli what happened."

"No," Lovino replied adamantly, unconsciously nodding in thanks when Antonio pulled the outside door open for him. "He can't handle it, he'll get upset."

"I think he can handle more than you give him credit for." Antonio said, glancing up at the clear night sky, and closing his eyes momentarily when a cold breeze upset the soft curls at the nape of his neck.

Lovino only sighed in response, feeling too drained to form a coherent argument. Antonio slid a comforting arm across the slumping boy's shoulders, smirking to himself when his touch wasn't shrugged away. "And even if he can't, he'll grow to," the Spaniard continued, "because none of us are born with strength. We work for it."

"Thanks Aristotle," Lovino replied sarcastically.

Antonio chuckled at the response, "yeah, I guess it's a bit cheesy, but-" he measured his words before continuing, "even if it's hard, I think it'd be more painful for Feli to know you didn't feel you could rely on him."

Lovino glanced up at Antonio, startled at how close his face was. "It's not that I don't trust him, he's my brother," he replied indignantly.

"But you want to protect him," the Spaniard interjected. "Why?"

"He's my brother." Lovino repeated, irritated that he was being asked such an obvious question.

"Well, don't you think he feels the same?" Antonio pressed, "don't you think he cares about you? That he wants you to be safe?"

The muted crunch of rubber soles against decrepit sidewalk filled the air as Lovino wrestled with the realization that Antonio wasn't as clueless as he appeared. A shiver forced it's way up his spine and he numbly leaned further into the Spaniard's side. He had never before felt so naked and exposed, it was an odd emotion, and he didn't know what to think or how to respond. It was both comforting and disturbing to know his feelings weren't as alien as he had always believed. It made him feel relieved, yet oddly commonplace and silly for having spent so many years tormenting himself over issues that were clearly easily diagnosed.

Part of him wanted to tell Antonio that no, he didn't know that his brother cared about him. That he genuinely believed no one did or would, and so he had to protect what he had by being the perfect son, the perfect grandson, the perfect brother. And maybe he was mad at himself for being unable to meet those expectations, because he was so far from perfect it was nauseating, and that hate was too much to shoulder, so sometimes he directed it outwards. It didn't matter if strangers hated him. They, unlike his family, had no obligation to like him, so it was a lost cause anyway. Because who would ever care to know the inferior Italian, unless they were bound by blood, why would anyone want to make friends with someone whose only job was to be a blemish on the otherwise beautiful canvas of the world.

He didn't say those things though, and he wouldn't. Even in his own mind, they sounded melodramatic and idiotic. It embarrassed him to know that he believed them, though he was at a loss to figure out how to stop. Lovino parted his lips to speak, mind pulling itself back to the present as he became aware that he was now sitting on a bench outside his dorm building, his and Antonio's bodies illuminated by the yellow light of the blissfully empty lobby.

"You looked like you needed a minute," Antonio smiled softly when Lovino gave him a questioning look. The Spaniard didn't appear sympathetic or put out, he didn't push Lovino for answers or fondle him with unabashed passion. The Italian wondered if Antonio had escaped from an alternate universe in which 'the guidebook to grumpy, self conscious Italians' was a best seller. Or, he thought sarcastically, it could just be that they were soul mates.

"I'm okay," he said, inhaling sharply when Antonio wrapped his strong arms around his torso and nuzzled his nose behind his cold ear.

"Good, I'm glad," Antonio said affectionately, his warm breath sending shivers across Lovino's neck. He pushed the older boy away when he had composed himself, rolling his shoulders while rising from his seat. 'Scratch the unabashed passion thing,' he thought bitterly, steadfastly ignoring the traitorous part of his brain that reminded him he hadn't exactly been inconspicuous about his own physical desires.

"It's been such a cold autumn, huh?" Antonio asked when a bitter wind rushed past the two newly standing bodies.

Lovino nodded, folding his hands into his armpits and ducking his chin into his collar while moving in a half jog towards the dormitory entrance. "Yeah, but I like it. There's a certain warmth in it."

"Says the guy who's shaking like we're in a blizzard," Antonio laughed, following the young Italian closely and waiting patiently while he typed his door code into the keypad.

"Shut up, bastard," Lovino called over his shoulder, scanning in his card and leaning against the heavy door as soon as the access beep was issued.

"Well you should dress warmer, it'd be bad if you got a cold," Antonio replied as they padded up the stairs.

"You don't get sick from being in the cold," Lovino objected, "you have to be exposed to viruses or something."

"Oh, really?" Antonio asked as he pushed the second story door open for the Italian.

Lovino only nodded, trying to ignore the way his heart had started to race at the realization that he would soon need to make a decision on whether or not to make Feli aware of his hospital visit. He vaguely contemplated why he was even considering Antonio's words, but he pushed it away, too concerned with the present problem to add to his trepidation.

"You're so smart," Antonio said seriously, a genuine smile lit in his tender green eyes.

"What?" Lovino muttered, freezing his thoughts to try and recall what Antonio was referring to, "oh," he said when he remembered. "Shut up, I'm not," he took a shuddering breath as they neared his dorm, "it's common knowledge."

"No, not really," Antonio argued, placing a comforting hand on the Italian's shoulder when he saw the boy tensing. "You don't take things for granted, I think that must be what makes you a great artist."

"I'm not a great artist, either," Lovino mumbled, pitch lowering to a near whisper when he reached the ominous oak door.

Antonio squeezed the boy's shoulder before removing his hand and knocking on the door when the Italian didn't make a move to search for his key. "We'll continue this conversation later."

Lovino nodded numbly, heartbeat echoing loudly in his ears as his vision shifted from tacky yellowed wood to the interior of his newly-straightened dorm. "Ve~Lovi, Antonio," the soft voice of his brother sounded, "did you forget your key?"

Lovino ignored the question and padded past his brother into his room, freezing immediately when he spotted the blonde from earlier sitting on his brother's desk chair. His eyebrows knit in frustration and he pointed at the atrocity before snapping his head back at his brother, "what is he doing here?"

"Your brother was scared to be alone," Ludwig spoke up when Feliciano crumbled into apologies and tears, begging his brother not to be mad. "I told him I'd stay here until you got home."

Lovino opened his mouth to reply before snapping it shut again and trudging over to his bed. The composure of that beefy German ticked him off, none of Feliciano's previous pursuits had seem so unaffected by his rage. Scared, pissed off, those were reactions he understood, but impassivity he had yet to encounter. And not only that, his mind raced as he slumped onto his bed, careful not to repeat his fainting episode from earlier, in the man's tone seemed to be the inference that he had been there for Feliciano when his brother hadn't. The audacity of the implication both shamed and infuriated him, and left him not knowing how to respond.

"Next time, call me," Lovino growled to his brother, deciding tonight at least he could grant himself the bliss of ignoring the problem.

Feliciano sniffed and nodded, walking over to sit down next to his brother while Antonio and Ludwig made stiff introductions. The younger Italian eyed his brother curiously, patting his knee in apology as he took in his unusually pale countenance, "is everything okay?"

Lovino chewed the inside of his cheek and stared at the floor with intensity, if he had been thinking of telling Feliciano what happened, the presence of the German had demolished those intentions.

Feliciano gave up on his brother and turned his gaze to Antonio, "did something happen?"

Lovino shot his eyes up when he heard the Spaniard clear his throat, "well," he started in, clearly uncomfortable with having to lie.

"I passed out," the older Italian interrupted him, heart skipping a beat when he realized what he had said.

"You what?" Feliciano yelped, immediately wrapping his arms around his brother and squeezing as tightly as his thin arms could manage. "Are you okay?" He asked, words muffled as he nuzzled his face into his brother's shoulder.

Lovino couldn't form words, his admission was still bouncing around the interior of his mind, sounding more and more pathetic the longer it lingered. He couldn't figure out why he had said it, and he cringed when his mind unhelpfully delivered images of Antonio's face, because it couldn't be guilt that had caused it. Who cared if Antonio was made uncomfortable, who cared if he had to lie to his younger brother for him? When had that bastard's comfort become more important than his own?

"He's fine, I brought him to the hospital, he was just dehydrated," Antonio explained when he caught sight of Lovino's overwhelmed face. He stepped forward and gently pried the small Italian from his brother, "let's let him breathe, okay?" Antonio smiled warmly.

Lovino felt an unexpected surge of jealousy, he wasn't used to seeing that smile directed at anyone other than himself. "Ve~Lovi, are you going to be okay?" Feliciano continued to fuss, not giving the older boy time to contemplate his emotions.

Lovino sighed, "I'm fine I-"

"He's going to take the day off tomorrow," Antonio interrupted, smirking knowingly at the older Italian's wide-eyed look.

"N-no I'm not, no one said that," Lovino argued, ignoring his brother's confusion.

"The doctor said you needed to rest." The Spaniard returned with finality.

"So I'm resting now, I should be working in the studio, and instead I'm here to get my precious sleep." Lovino took to his feet in a feeble attempt to stare down the taller boy.

Antonio wanted to chuckle at the cute way the Italian persisted, at the way he tried to look so mean and forceful, but he knew he'd only make the situation worse if he did, so he settled for brushing a few stray strands of hair from the boy's forehead and resting his hand on his shoulder. "One night isn't enough, you need a day of doing nothing."

Lovino felt his anger diffuse slightly, his irritation interrupted by the explosion of heat that radiated from Antonio's calloused fingers against his cold skin. "But I-"

"Antonio's right, fratello," Feliciano interjected, standing up from the bed and tugging gently at his brother's sleeve in a bid for attention. "Please take a day off, I'll explain everything to your professors, you won't have to worry about anything."

"But-" Lovino tried again, his tongue was dry and heavy in his mouth and he felt his resistance breaking down, weakened by the feeling of being surrounded by two people that might genuinely care for him.

"Please," Feliciano repeated, quietly this time, with tears tracing the corners of his eyes.

Lovino rolled his eyes and plopped unceremoniously to his bed, letting his back fall on the less than comfortable mattress while he let out an audible sigh. "Fine, fine, you bastards, I'll let you have your way this once."

Feliciano cheered, his tears drying immediately as he dropped next to his brother and leaned down to plant a kiss on his cheek. "Thank you," he smiled when Lovino made a show of rubbing the tainted skin. It was hard for his brother to do things for himself, and so he was grateful for the subtle admission of weakness, even if he had to coerce it out of him with dramatics.

"Well, I guess I should be going," Antonio said after a while, despondent over having to abandon the cute show of the Italian brothers' interactions.

Lovino blinked and stretched his neck to see the time on his alarm clock, he straightened all the way when he saw how late it was and nodded his head in understanding. "God, yeah, it's late, you should go." He agreed, vision averted as he fought himself internally. "Um, and, thanks I guess, for, you know-" His words dropped off when Antonio wrapped his arms around his shoulders in a comfortable embrace and lifted a hand to ruffle his hair.

"My pleasure," the Spaniard replied in a, in Lovino's opinion, maddeningly seductive voice. He felt his cheeks inflame as Antonio pulled away and smiled warmly at Feliciano, cupping the small Italian's cheek while he bid him goodbye.

"Get out of here, bastard," Lovino growled, and not because he was jealous. The idiot Spaniard was overly affectionate, but it didn't bother him. It wasn't like he thought every touch between them was special. There was no way he held the older boy in such reverence. No, if anything, his irritation was due to being tired.

Antonio laughed, "okay okay, goodnight," he waved as he slipped out the door.

"I should go, too," a voice sounded from Feliciano's side of the room, shocking Lovino. He had forgotten about the German's presence, and he was hit with another burst of embarrassment when he realized that the solemn boy, whom he had only just met, had been an audience to his show of vulnerability.

Feliciano jumped up and rushed to the boy's side, "ve~okay, if you have to," he nodded, guiding the boy to the hall and leaving Lovino alone in the room as the pair parted ways.

"What was that?" Lovino demanded when Feliciano re-entered the room, cheeks painted with a delicate pink flush, a much cuter look than the garish shade of red that plastered his features, the older Italian internalized bitterly.

"What was what?" Feliciano asked innocently, pulling off his shirt and pants as he readied himself for bed.

"Don't play stupid," Lovino warned, critically eyeing the soft curves and flawless skin his brother possessed, and feeling incredibly inferior.

"I was just saying goodbye," Feliciano shrugged, padding into the bathroom to brush his teeth.

"And why did that require going into the hall?" Lovino yelled after him, unsure if his anger was from jealousy over the attention Antonio had given him, or from the fact that he was blatantly hiding his relationship with the stoic German.

Feliciano reappeared from the bathroom and tilted his head in bemusement at his fuming brother. "Ve~is it that time again?" He teased.

"No." Lovino replied, immediately knowing what his brother was referring to. "Do it and I'll kick you in the balls, I swear to God."

Feliciano ignored his brother's protests and opened his arms wide, dodging the older Italian's wildly kicking legs as he tackled him with a hug. "Hug therapy!" He squealed happily, laughing at the string of curses that erupted beneath him.

"Enough with your stupid hug therapy!" Lovino argued, struggling against Feliciano's hold, "I've had enough hugging today!"

"Ve~you can never have enough," Feliciano giggled, "and I won't stop till you hug me back."

"Isn't there a rule about manhandling the ill?" Lovino complained.

"So you admit it, then?" Feliciano pulled away from his brother so he could gaze at the sullen Italian.

Lovino took the moment of vulnerability and kicked his brother away, a self congratulatory smile quirking his lips when the younger boy fell to the ground with a grunt. "Of course not," he replied, rolling over to till he was facing the wall. "And don't think I've forgotten about that German guy," he added for good measure. "You're just lucky I'm tired."

Feliciano only hummed in reply, clearly not bothered by his brother's threatening words. "Maybe you should drink something before going to bed," he said, walking to the sink to fill a cup with water without waiting for a reply.

Lovino pushed himself up by his elbow and looked over his shoulder, grimacing when a glass was pushed in front of his face. "I'm not a kid," he started, only to take the glass and gulp it down anyway.

"Yeah, I know," Feliciano replied, sitting on the side of his brother's bed and fiddling with a loose string on his boxers. "What happened exactly, when you passed out I mean?" The boy implored.

Lovino shrugged and pushed himself into a sitting position, back leaning against the cold wall. "I dunno, it's embarrassing, I don't want to talk about it."

Feliciano opened his mouth to reply, but seemed to think against it, "good thing big brother Antonio was there."

Lovino wrinkled his nose, "ew, don't call that pervert 'big brother,' what the hell."

Feliciano giggled, thankful for his brother's lighter mood, "I wish you had called me, though, when you were at the hospital."

Lovino sighed and turned his eyes to the ceiling, "yeah, well I wish you had called me when you saw our place was ransacked, instead of that damn German bastard."

"That's different, Lovi," Feliciano pouted slightly.

"No it's not, it's not at all," Lovino shot back, irritation knitting in his brows. "You could've gotten hurt, Feli, do you realize that? Whoever did this could've been in the room when you got back, and I know you trust everyone and have no worries and whatever, but Jesus, you just-you have to be more careful because I," he bit the inside of his lip when a knot started to grow in his throat. "I can't lose you," he admitted, blinking away the tears born from a combination of frustration, embarrassment, and the loneliness that left him breathless, "you're all I have."

Feliciano flung his body forward, nuzzling his head into his brother's chest as tears fell freely from his eyes. "I'm sorry," he hiccuped, uncertain if he meant for not being careful or for bringing them into this situation in the first place. He had wanted to get out from the stifling confines of his brother's watchful eye, he had accepted the scholarship to this school in order to do so, but he didn't know it would be like this. He knew Lovino would have a hard time of it at first, but he hadn't realized how deep their bonds went, and how affected the had both been by the past. In fact, now he realized, Lovino had probably always protected him from that truth.

The older Italian combed his hand through his brother's silky hair, letting his nails skim the surface of his scalp like their mother used to do. He was sorry, too, but he couldn't say it. He was done with this day, this month, this lifetime. He had long since stopped believing in the existence of any deity, but he still couldn't help but curse every last one he could name, for making him and his brother karma's punching bag.

"Are you dating that guy?" Lovino asked after a while, deciding it was better to accept uncomfortable truths than have his brother avoid him.

Feliciano nodded before giving a soft "yes," and pulling away to wipe his tears and gaze nervously into the older Italian's tired eyes. He flinched when Lovino cursed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm sorry for not telling you."

Lovino breathed deeply, trying to keep his anger at bay before answering. "I knew something was going on, anyway," he admitted. "Just, please don't lie to me." He said lamely.

"I know," Feliciano agreed.

"I want to have a talk with him, I can't have a stranger dating my brother." Lovino said sternly, leveling the younger Italian with a serious gaze. "You haven't fucked him yet have you?" He asked, voice dropping an octave at the uncomfortable subject.

Feliciano squealed and fell to his side in peels of laughter, "ve~that's a horrible way to say it," he admonished. "And no, you have to wait for it to be special, you know?"

Lovino rolled his eyes, "it's just sex, what's so special about it?"

The younger boy grinned and stretched his arms across the soft covers, "if you say that then you haven't had it with the right person yet."

Lovino glared down at his brother and gave a slight "hmph." "You're such a slut."

Feliciano gasped and grabbed the pillow behind him, pelting it into his brother's head. A short tussle broke out, ending with Lovino rubbing his head and Feliciano nestled safely into the fortress of his own bed. "Don't forget to turn off your alarm," the younger boy reminded as he rolled onto his stomach. Lovino nodded and reached to turn off his desk light, sighing as he lowered his body into his mattress.

"Hey, Lovi?" Feliciano's muffled voice sounded.

"Hm?" Lovino replied, already sinking into a much needed sleep.

"Are you and Antonio dating?"

Lovino opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling as if it held the answer to the question, and his heart picked up it's familiar drumming. He knew the answer, it was a simple one, but his mouth seemed unwilling to make it. "No," he choked out finally, turning over to bury his flaming cheeks into his pillow.


	21. Chapter 21

Lovino sighed as he let himself be lulled into relaxation by the subtle tapping of rain against glass and the rhythmic crackle of roller against ink slab. For the first time in a while he felt fully refreshed, his hair was clean, his clothes were fresh, and his mind seemed a bit less weighted. He begrudgingly had to admit that taking a day off had been the right thing to do. Feliciano had joined him, after informing their professors of the situation, and the two had spent a relaxing day of cuddling together and watching movies, silently reminding one another of their importance in each other's lives. Lovino had allowed himself to forget about his problems, he hadn't asked Feliciano about Sadiq's response to his absence, and, though he knew he shouldn't indulge any tendencies to avoidance, he was glad he hadn't.

Lovino pulled his roller from the slab and carefully unloaded the ink onto his freshly-carved linoleum block. He would typically feel anxious about his inevitable meeting with his hard to read professor, and he was, in fact it was his reason for coming in so early, but his heart didn't beat quite as hard as usual. The fear didn't feel so close, so final, and he wondered if it was because, for once, his self worth wasn't solely dependent on the opinion of his authority.

"Vargas," a gruff voice sounded from the doorway, making Lovino jump in surprise and drop his roller a little too heavily. "Ah sorry, did I scare ya?" His professor chuckled to himself, ignoring the Italian's muffled curses. He grabbed the flat mop from the where it sat resting against the metal drying rack and started sweeping the floor. "Glad to see you in here so early, hope you're feeling alright."

Lovino cleared his throat and tried to ignore the faint heat forming in his cheeks at having his vulnerable state discussed, "uh, yeah." He responded lamely, busying himself with reloading his roller.

"That little brother of yours is something, huh? He came in here with tears in his eyes, I thought you might be on your last leg the way he was talking," Sadiq laughed, pausing as he recalled the amusing spectacle.

"Ah, yeah, sounds like Feli," Lovino mumbled in response, embarrassed yet slightly irritated at the idea of someone other than himself mocking his brother.

"A little melodramatic for my taste, but I'm sure it'll get him far, with that cute face of his." The man continued, not bothered by his assistant's annoyance.

"He's a great artist, the best I've seen," Lovino snapped, internally wincing when he looked from his work and saw the surprised look on his professor's face.

Sadiq smirked and shrugged before continuing his work of sweeping, "yeah, Vargas, no one's arguing that, but it's unrealistic to think success in the art world is measured only by talent." He replied easily, clearly jaded from spending too many years in his profession witnessing talented students become desk jockeys.

"You could learn something from him, you know," Sadiq continued, working his way towards Lovino to peer over the boy's work. "Your work is good, but no one's going to give you shows if you wear that mean expression all the time."

The Italian bit the inside of his mouth, willing himself not to say anything rude. Despite his immense irritation, even Lovino had to admit that it was important to stay in his professor's good graces. "Maybe I don't want shows." He said finally, unable to keep completely silent.

Sadiq quirked an eyebrow and smirked, "oh, is that so? Too bad." He replied cryptically, pointing out a few roller marks on Lovino's linoleum block before pushing the broom away.

The Italian tried to ignore the vague response, obstinance making him not want to give in to his professor's teasing and show that he was interested in what he had to say. But his curiosity made his patience wear thin, and after only a few moments of silence he caved, "why is it too bad?"

Sadiq paused from sweeping around the tables and looked over his shoulder, "oh, so you are interested?"

Lovino scowled and turned back to his work, growling a muted "forget it" under his breath as he unloaded his roller with a little more force than necessary.

The older man laughed at the reaction and shook his head, "sorry, sorry, you're just so easy to mess with, kid. Do you remember that show I told you I need help with, a week from tomorrow?"

The Italian cocked his head and nodded slightly, in truth he had forgotten, but he thought it was best to not share that information. "S-sure," he replied, hoping his voice didn't sound as uncertain out loud as it did in his head.

Sadiq didn't seem bothered and continued, "it seems like one of the artist dropped out," he explained, pausing slightly for suspense as Lovino's heart thumped a little too heavily in his chest. "She didn't have a lot of space, enough for two or three pieces, so I suggested we have a student take her place."

Lovino nodded numbly, not bothering to contemplate why he was so interested. "Yeah, makes sense." He shrugged, averting his eyes to the window in what he hoped was an uncaring manner.

"Yeah," Sadiq agreed, "so that's why I suggested you be the one to do it."

If Lovino had been fighting off a blush of frustration before, now he was sure his face, neck, hell, probably his entire upper torso, were ignited in a deep shade of red. "Y-you, what? Why would-why me?" He sputtered, turning his eyes to his professor in shock.

Sadiq shrugged, a bit taken back by his assistant's surprise, "why not?"

Lovino opened his mouth to reply, before snapping it shut to further contemplate his answer. He didn't know how to ask what was weighing on his mind without sounding overdramatic, but he couldn't help himself but question it. A hidden part of his brain unhelpfully told him it was because he was searching for praise, was desperate for it, but he pushed that part away, guiltily unwilling to address it. "Well, I don't know, there have to be better students than me." He swallowed thickly and grimaced, not impressed with the way his professor seemed completely unfazed by his statement.

"There's always going to be someone better than you, Vargas, don't look a gift horse in the mouth."

Lovino bit the inside of his cheek and returned to his work, feeling embarrassed by his desperate and all too obvious plea for a compliment. "So will you do it?" Sadiq pressed, bending down to sweep the detritus of the room into a dustpan.

The Italian considered being obstinate, pushing the gift onto another student simply as punishment for the flippant way in which his professor presented it. But he knew it wouldn't bother the older man, and so he relented. "Yeah, I guess."

Sadiq leaned the broom back on the drying rack and brushed his hands together. "Good, good," he nodded, picking up his coffee cup from the nearest table and taking a sip before heading back towards the door to return to his office. He leaned back in the room before disappearing down the hall, "so no more passing out and taking days off, you've got a lot of work to do," he winked, laughing at the curses that followed him as he walked away.

Lovino waited till he could no longer here the tapping footfalls of his professor before depositing his roller in it's holder and stumbling over to a chair. He allowed himself a brief smile, and an embarrassingly excited chuckle as he slid his fingers through his hair and leaned back in his seat. All of the pieces he had made since being at school weren't good enough to show, and he had no idea what he could make, or where he would get his pieces framed, or even how he'd scramble up the money to do it, but for the moment he allowed himself the gift of not caring, of living to enjoy the brief moment where Lovino Vargas had just been given his very first chance to exhibit his art work.

Without thinking, he pulled his phone from his satchel, deciding 7am was an acceptable time to be calling someone before scrolling through his contacts. He wouldn't call Roderich, he doubted if that bastard would even care, Elizabeta would probably be excited for him, but he knew her mornings were busy and he didn't have it in him to disturb her, and Feliciano was out, he knew his brother would still be sleeping and even if he tried to call, the ring of the phone would never wake him. Lovino felt his excitement wane as he realized how minute his number of acquaintances really was. He'd always known it, had gone so far as to enforce it, but at a time like this, when all he wanted was to have someone to share in his successes, he found it rather depressing.

He paused when the contact list rounded back to the beginning and Antonio's name was highlighted. The Spaniard had insisted his number be added after the incident from the other night, and Lovino had begrudgingly agreed it was probably for the best. He punched the name and then hesitated before hitting "call," pulse strumming audibly in his ear as logic started to return to his excitement-addled brain. Lovino took a deep breath as the first tinny ring sounded, readjusting the phone in his hand when his palm started to perspire. By the time the second ring petered off, the Italian scrambled for the "end" button, ashamed that he had ever deemed this a good idea.

"Hola!" A chipper voice sounded, freezing Lovino's pulse with it's light-hearted tone.

"D-don't sound so happy, bastard," Lovino grumbled, flustered at the surge of happiness that entered his body solely from hearing the older boy's warm timbre.

"Lovi? Is that you? Is everything okay? What's going on?" The Spaniard demanded, voice so tinted with genuine concern it made Lovino blush.

"N-nothing, idiot. I'm fine, I-" He hesitated, suddenly embarrassed for having called Antonio to share his good news, as if the boy were his parent and not his friend. "You know what? Never mind, forget it. Sorry I called." He sputtered a little too quickly, moving his thumb to end the call before Antonio's tinny exclamations stopped him.

"Hey, Lovi! Don't do that, you only just called," the older boy whined, the distant sound of sizzling accompanying his words.

"Are you cooking while you're on the phone? Bastard, you'll burn yourself," Lovino scolded, slumping back into his seat and staring unblinking at the coursing rain.

Antonio laughed and Lovino heard the clatter of pots and pans, "nah, I'm an expert at this," the Spaniard teased, "and besides, my skin is so think by this point, it takes a lot to burn me."

Lovino bit his lip at the unwholesome images that flooded his mind and slid his feet into his chair, leveraging his calves against the table. "Idiot," he scolded half-heartedly.

Antonio hummed in response and Lovino swore he could feel the warm smile radiating through the phone. "So tell me why you called, Lovi," he reminded.

The Italian sighed and rubbed his sinuses with his free hand, "forget it, it's stupid," he dismissed.

"Aw, I'm sure it's not," Antonio pouted playfully, "please tell me."

Lovino stared at his knees and picked at the stitch of his pants in shame, "well," he started, grimacing at his stupidity before continuing, "it's just that I-um-my work," he corrected, "it's going to be in a show next week." He finished lamely.

"What? Really? Like a real art show?" Antonio exclaimed with genuine enthusiasm.

The younger boy flushed at the response, embarrassed, but secretly grateful. "Y-yeah, so, don't expect me to be hanging out with you all the time." He fussed, hoping Antonio would think he had called for that reason, rather than just for attention.

"Lovi, that's amazing!" Antonio continued, the sound of something banging and the Spaniard cursing lightly making the Italian knit his eyebrows.

"Idiot, I told you you'd burn yourself."

"I'm fine, I'm fine," Antonio dismissed, "I'm just so proud of you."

The Italian only issues a small "hmph" in response, the increasing heaviness in his chest making it hard to speak.

"Can I come over? I made torrijas, we can have a celebratory breakfast!"

Lovino pulled the phone from his face and looked at the time, "class starts soon," he said simply.

Antonio made a sound of displeasure, "too bad. I'll be cooking at school tonight so I won't be able to bring you dinner." He sighed, as if he held some sort of obligation to the older Italian.

Lovino flinched against the guilt that vibrated through his palms, "we don't have to celebrate, it's not a big deal."

"Don't say that, it is a big deal, it's so great," Antonio argued. "We'll do something soon, okay?"

"I said don't worry about it," Lovino grumbled back, growing wary of the attention, "and remember what I told you, I'm going to be busy, I can't have you bothering me."

"Fine, fine," Antonio dismissed, knowing the cruel words were spoken with the best of intentions. "But Lovi?"

"What?" the Italian replied, resting his head against his knees as he watched the blue morning light disperse into a dreary gray.

"I can come to the show, right?"

"No." Lovino said adamantly, the answer out of his mouth so fast he didn't have time to consider why he had said it.

"Really? Why not?"

"Because," the younger boy replied, fully aware of how immature his response sounded. "Because I said so."

"Ah," Antonio replied simply, the following silence exaggerated heavily through the phone line.

Lovino waited momentarily, unsure how to respond, before giving up and sputtering a lame, "well, I gotta go."

He ended the call immediately, cutting off the "wait, Lovi!" that sounded from the other side and pushing the phone across the table with disgust. He kneaded his bottom lip between his teeth, trying to ward off the feeling that he had somehow offended the Spaniard, or worse, upset him. He pulled himself from his seat when the sound of footsteps started to echo through the halls, indicating that class would be starting soon. He busied himself with his students, being even more diligent than usual with his teaching as a way to ignore the thoughts that loomed in the periphery of his mind.

So what if he had hurt the Spaniard's feelings? What had he done for him except feed him, go out of his way for him, comfort him when no one else knew or cared to, "fuck." Lovino growled, slamming his fist on the table as his last students of the day filtered out of the classroom. He let his fingers unclench slowly, palm flat on the table as he stared unseeing at the butcher paper surface. He didn't know how to justify the way he was feeling, he felt bad, he felt guilty, and he didn't like thinking that Antonio might be angry or, worse, sad because of him. It was perhaps one of the first times he had felt this way about anyone besides his family, that his needs were less important than those of another.

Lovino straightened up and slung his satchel across his shoulders as he headed in a half jog towards the basement. He didn't want to give Antonio the impression that he wanted to date him, but he didn't want the boy not to like him either. He just needed the Spaniard to be there, he didn't know why, or maybe he did, but he couldn't confront it yet. When he reached his destination he thumped on the door without hesitation, and folded his arm's impatiently as he waited for the perverted Frenchman to respond.

The door opened quickly and Francis gave a knowing smile, popping his hip up as he addressed the flustered-looking Italian. "Well, hello Lo-"

"I need a ride." Lovino said simply, not in the mood to put up with the older boy's antics. "To the culinary school." He clarified when Francis opened his mouth to ask.

The Frenchman looked regretful and frowned slightly, "I can't, I'm afraid, I have a class starting soon." He gave a sad smile when Lovino cursed, turning his eyes to the ceiling as if re-evaluating his plan. "You know, Lovino, the school really isn't so far from here, you could walk."

"Walk?" The Italian demanded, feeling tired just at the idea.

Francis nodded in reply, "mmhmm, if you go through the neighborhoods, it's only a few miles."

Lovino knit his eyebrows as he considered this new information, "but I don't know the way."

Francis shrugged and grabbed a notepad from his desk, "I could draw you up a map if it's that important, I am an artist you know."

The younger boy sighed and leaned against the door frame, "fine," he nodded, "draw me a stupid map."

Francis set to work immediately, explaining some of the finer details to Lovino as he worked, and making a few notes on the side for clarity. "Call me if you get lost, okay?" He asked while handing the paper over to the Italian.

"You wish," Lovino grumbled, pocketing the precious map and walking back into the hall.

"Wait!" Francis called, holding an umbrella out to the boy. "It's been raining all day, best to take this."

Lovino nodded and gave a small "thanks," before heading back to the stairs.

"Tell Antonio I said 'hi!'" Francis called after him, laughing merrily at the curses that were shouted his way.

Lovino held the handle of the umbrella tight against his chest as he studied the raindrop-laden map. He shivered with disgust when he stepped in another deep puddle, his shoes and jeans now thoroughly drenched from dirty water. The path to Antonio's school wasn't as complicated as he had previously thought, even if he was directionally challenged, the school's large structure loomed blatantly in the distance.

"That bastard better be grateful," he grumbled to himself, slipping the paper back into his pocket so he could blow warm breath on his numbing fingers. He ignored the winding walkways and instead trudged straight across the sprawling green campus, more concerned with getting inside than with the state of his already drenched shoes. He wandered up to the cluster of buildings, studying the name plastered upon each one and comparing it to his hand-drawn map as he navigated his way to Antonio's location.

Finally, he reached his destination, a nice, newer looking building accented with red brick and large windows. He stepped under the awning and peered through the door as he shook the excess water from his umbrella. Francis has told him that Antonio was probably staying late to work on his own course load rather than for a class and, judging by the emptiness of the open interior, he had been right. Lovino inhaled and reached for the door, pulling it open and clomping into the entrance way, wincing at the way his sopping shoes squeaked against polished linoleum.

A few random students walked past, too lost in conversation with one another to notice the rain-soaked, confused looking Italian. Francis hadn't known exactly where Antonio would be inside the building, and so it was up to Lovino to ask for directions. The Italian hadn't given the idea a second thought at the time, but now, with his hair matted against his forehead and jeans soaked up to the knees, he was feeling too self-conscious to address any of the elegant looking students.

He grimaced awkwardly and stepped down a random hall, peeking into every open door as he went. When that search didn't yield any immediate results, he paced back to where he started and took down a new path. After reaching the end of the hall, again with no pay-off, he started to reconsider his intentions. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, umbrella squeezed under his armpit as he shuffled back to his starting point, praying no one had seen him wandering around the school like a lost child. 'Why does this building have to be so damn big,' he growled internally, neck heating from his agitation.

He didn't pause when he reached the entrance way again, instead cutting a tight corner around to the next hallway, picking his feet up awkwardly so they wouldn't continue to squeak. He nearly yelled in relief when he peered into the closest door and was greeted with the image of Antonio, decked in a crisp white double-breasted jacket and bent over an onion that he was cutting with almost absurd attention.

Lovino just lingered in the hallway a while, silently watching Antonio work. He had never seen the boy look quite so serious before, so concentrated. The sharp white outfit fit him well, cut close to his maddeningly perfect figure and setting contrast to his warm, dark skin. This Antonio looked so unattainable, so different from the cheerful, goofy grinning boy that carelessly threw on flannel and jeans and pandered to the grumpy Italian with unabashed affection. Lovino swallowed dryly, he wondered if it was all an act, or a cruel joke. Maybe the Spaniard wasn't who he thought he was, maybe he was only kind out of pity, maybe-

"Lovi?" A surprised voice sounded.

Lovino blinked, snapped from his racing thoughts as he noticed Antonio's brilliant green eyes leveled on him. "What are you doing here?" He asked when the Italian didn't respond.

Lovino stepped awkwardly into the room, leaning his umbrella against the doorway as he trudged up to the long counter. "Ah, I just thought that," he shrugged and turned his eyes to the wall, "I just thought maybe you'd like some company while you worked." He hesitantly turned his eyes back to the Spaniard, heat igniting in his cheeks when a huge smile bloomed across the older boy's face.

"So cute," Antonio gasped, placing his knife down to walk around the corner and wrap the small Italian in a warm embrace. "Does this mean we can start dating now?"

"N-no, bastard," Lovino scowled, fuming, as he pushed the boy away. "Don't ask again."

Antonio only smiled and rubbed a thumb across Lovino's eyebrow, wiping away a rogue raindrop that traced his forehead. "I'll keep asking till you say yes."

Lovino looked up at the older boy, sucking his plump bottom lip as he recalled the heat and the sweet spicy taste of the other's mouth. "W-well you'll be waiting forever then." He growled, secretly pleased with the way the Spaniard had so easily diffused his insecurities.

Antonio shrugged, "Then that's how long it'll have to be," he said simply, holding back a laugh at the deep crimson that decorated the younger boy's face. He gazed lovingly at Lovino's down-turned features, watching as tiny drops of cold water descended down rich brown locks. "Is it really raining that hard outside?" He asked, "who dropped you off anyway?"

Lovino shrugged, leaning his heels into his shoes until the water squished unpleasantly into his socks, "I walked."

"What? You walked?" Antonio asked, a subtle and surprising anger tracing his words.

Lovino looked up curiously, "yeah, Francis drew a map for me." He explained, stuffing his hand into his jacket pocket and offering up the crumpled, water-stained scrap of paper.

Antonio took the paper and crumpled it in his fist, "Lovi," he started, "and in this weather, too," he turned his head as he spoke, more to himself than to the Italian. "That," he snapped his head back to Lovino, uncharacteristic sternness still tinting his voice, "don't do that again."

The Italian scowled in irritation, confused at why he was being scolded, "Fuck you!" He shouted, defenses immediately flaring up to shield him from the embarrassment at ever having thought the Spaniard would enjoy his surprise presence. He backed away from the man, ignoring the shrill squeak issuing from his shoes, "sorry to bother you," he spat sarcastically, stomping towards the door.

Antonio withdrew a sharp breath and the hardness lessened in his face as he stepped forward to stop the retreating Italian. "No, Lovi, that's not what I meant," he pleaded, grabbing the boy's arm just in time to slip on the slick trail of water that followed him and sending them both sprawling to the ground.

The two lay silently for a few seconds, waiting for their minds to catch up with the rotation of the earth beneath their prone bodies. Lovino caught his breath before turning his head to look at the Spaniard that lay stretched across back.

"Oi, bastard, are you okay?" He called, craning his neck to see.

"Ah, yeah, are you?" Antonio replied, pulling away embarrassed when he realized he had been using the Italian's butt as a pillow.

"Next time you want me to stay, telling me will suffice. No need to resort to tackling." The younger boy replied dryly, ignoring the cold that seeped in when the comforting warmth and weight of the Spaniard had been removed from his back.

Antonio laughed heartily at that, pulling himself to his feet and reaching a hand down to help hoist up the other. "I didn't realize you were leaving a snail trail behind you," he teased, for the first time noticing the soaked state of the Lovino's slacks. "We should get you in some dry clothes," he decided, gesturing for the Italian to follow him into the hall.

Lovino trailed closely behind as Antonio led him to a small locker room, slumping onto a bench while the Spaniard rifled through his bag. He tossed the Italian a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, "you're lucky I keep a spare change of clothes in here," he called when the boy padded around a row of lockers to change in private. He hummed in response, tossing his water-logged jacket and shirt over the closest bench and shivering when the cool air sent an expanse of goosebumps blossoming across his exposed skin. He pulled the dry shirt over his head, chest tingling from the familiar scent of Spaniard sewn into it's folds.

"What did you mean before?" Lovino asked as he slid his sopping jeans from his gently rounded hips.

"Hm?" Antonio replied, perking his head up to better hear the Italian.

"About 'not doing that again.'" Lovino clarified as he let the length of denim fall to the floor with a wet slap. "Why can't I come here?"

Antonio nodded in understanding, before realizing the Italian couldn't see him and opening his mouth to speak, "I didn't mean that you can't come here," he clarified, usually present mirth once more depleted from his tone.

Lovino finished buttoning the new jeans, ignoring the way they gapped slightly at the waist and the hems brushed the floor. "Well then what's the problem?" He asked, irritation in his voice as he scooped up his strewn clothes and rounded the lockers to stare at the Spaniard expectantly.

"I meant I don't want you walking here," Antonio said seriously, trying not to ruin the affect of his statement by smiling at how cute Lovino looked in his slightly over-sized clothes.

"What, in the rain? It's not a big deal, bastard, I'll make sure I have my own clothes next time." Lovino shrugged, embarrassed that he implied this might become a regular occurrence.

Antonio shook his head, "no, not just in the rain, I mean at all. I don't want you walking here at all."

Lovino bit the inside of his lip in anger, ignoring the metallic taste that sifted across his tongue. "What the hell do you mean?"

The Spaniard seemed unfazed by the younger boy's frustration, "it's dangerous," he said seriously, a streak of possessiveness barely perceptible in his eyes, "it's a long walk, who knows what could happen to you."

Lovino couldn't believe what he was hearing, his shoulders quaked with fury at the implication that he couldn't protect himself. "I'm a man!" He shouted, regret sinking in as soon as Antonio blinked and broke out into laughter. "Dammit, Antonio, it's not funny! Screw you, jerk!"

Antonio shook his head, palms open in front of his chest in a bid for peace as he tried to quell his giggling. "N-no, I'm sorry," he gulped, brushing tears from the corner of his eyes, "I'm sorry," he repeated, when a fresh peel of laughter erupted in his chest, "I know you are, Lovi."

"I don't need a damn babysitter," Lovino continued, thoroughly offended by both Antonio's words and his raucous laughter.

The Spaniard took a deep breath, successfully regaining his composure before speaking up again. "I know you don't, that's not what I meant. It's just-" He paused to consider his words, "it's for me, Lovi. It's selfish, but for me, please don't do it."

"I don't get it," Lovino mumbled, anger slowly dissipating from his tense body.

"I'd worry that something would happen to you," Antonio clarified, stepping closer to the Italian to softly brush fingertips across the boy's elegant jawline. "And if something did happen, when you were coming to see me," his eyes fell to the floor as if fear of the imagined event was palpable, "I'd never forgive myself." He breathed, the solemnity of his voice making Lovino's heart quake heavily in his chest.

"F-fine," the younger boy squeaked out, clutching damp clothes tightly to his stomach. "Even if it's stupid," he trailed off, not finding it important to finish the sentiment.

Antonio quirked a smile, all evidence of gravity gone from his face and replaced with familiar kindness. "Thanks," he said earnestly, pecking the boy on the eyebrow before wrenching the cold clothes from his hold and laying them across the benches to dry.

Lovino watched frozen as the Spaniard worked, all blood in his body rushing to the area above his right eyelid that had just been touched with soft Spanish lips. "Sorry I don't have socks," Antonio hummed, blissfully unaware of the flustered state of the younger boy.

"Yeah," Lovino piped up, latching onto the complaint as a way to pull himself from his thoughts, "damn bastard, my feet are frozen."

Antonio smiled knowingly and draped an arm across the slight boy's shoulders, leading him back to the hall. "C'mon, it's warmer in the kitchen," he encouraged. Lovino nodded, allowing himself to be pulled into the Spaniard's side. "Thanks for coming," Antonio said warmly, the vibration of his words making the Italian smile slightly despite himself.

"Yeah, well," he let his words peter off, unsure of what to say next. "I guess I felt sort of-I mean that I-I wanted to apologize." He said lamely.

"Hm? For what?" Antonio asked, leaving Lovino to settle into a stool once they had re-entered the classroom as he walked around to the other side of the bar.

Lovino shrugged and drummed his fingers on the black marble, eyes downcast. "For earlier," he mumbled, unwilling to finish the sentiment. The Spaniard only hummed in reply, frustrating the Italian with the ambiguity of the response. He listened to Antonio's footfalls, studying the reflecting surface of the counter as he wondered if the older boy even knew what he was talking about, or if the memory of it had irritated him into silence. He jumped slightly when a cup was placed down in front of him, and he shot his eyes up with a questioning glare.

"Tea," Antonio explained, raising his own mug in a one-sided toast before taking a sip and leaning his elbow against the counter. "You know, you could've just called to apologize." He smirked when Lovino coughed into his mug.

"Well, yeah," the Italian replied, holding the mug close to his face so the warm steam could trace his cheeks. He watched intently at the way the rogue orange chunks bobbed in the brown liquid, and let himself wonder how Antonio knew the way he preferred his tea. "So, do you accept?" He asked.

"Do I accept being your boyfriend? Of course!" Antonio responded playfully, chuckling at the blush that immediately filled the Italian's face.

"No, idiot, the apology." He bit back immediately.

"Of course," Antonio repeated, the sincerity in his voice reassuring Lovino that it wasn't another joke.

"Good." He grumbled in feigned irritation.

"Does that mean I get to go to your show?" Antonio asked, knowing the answer before it had even left the younger boy's lips.

"No," Lovino replied steadfastly, taking a greedy gulp of his drink and wondering when that word had become his favorite.


	22. Chapter 22

Lovino leaned heavily across the counter, head tilted on his shoulder and cheeks blushed slightly from the few gulps of cooking wine Antonio had stolen him in celebration of his recent success. The conversation had been light and pointless, but the topics never seemed to matter. After all, it was what was left unsaid, what lingered provocatively in the dead air between the prattled consonants and slippery vowels, that was most truthful.

"Do you dress up for art shows?" Antonio asked, glancing at the tired Italian as he cleaned up his mess.

Lovino straightened his head and shrugged, "I'm not sure, Roderich used to dress up, but then, that's just the kind of person he is."

Antonio nodded knowingly as he wiped the counters, "I guess it doesn't matter anyway, since I won't be going."

"Yeah," Lovino joined in immediately, embarrassed that he had seemingly forgotten, "why do you care?"

Antonio didn't answer, and he wasn't meant to, instead he rounded the corner and placed a warm palm on the Italian's shoulder. "You ready to go?"

Lovino didn't argue the touch, though he did exit his stool quickly. "Yeah, I need to try to come up with a concept tonight." He said, a barely perceptible shudder of misery coursing its way up his spine.

"Aw, it can't be that bad, I'm sure you'll do fine." Antonio encouraged, leading the pair towards the door.

The Italian grabbed his borrowed umbrella as they exited, jumping away from the Spaniard to wield it as a weapon and whipping it through the air in threat of poking the older boy's side.

Antonio laughed and flattened himself against the opposite wall, "Please, spare me!" He whined in mock fear, holding his open palms in front of his chest for defense.

Lovino snapped the umbrella to his side, letting the plastic tip meet linoleum with a determined crack as he cocked his hip and raised his chin. "Never make light of a difficult task, Antonio," he warned through half-lidded eyes, lips quirking slightly upwards at the fun of being the dominant individual for once. "One can't be held responsible for what is done out of frustration," He said as haughtily as possible, pulling the umbrella back into the air with a straight arm and leveling it between Antonio's eyes.

"Forgive me," Antonio whispered in a maddeningly seductive voice. Lovino felt his character falter momentarily when his heart jumped in his chest, and was caught completely off-guard when the Spaniard grabbed the hull of the umbrella and jerked it forward, sending the Italian into his chest. Antonio took advantage of the younger boy's startled state and wrapped his arms around his body, the ensuing hug lasting longer than it would've had Lovino's senses been properly about him.

"Let go," the younger boy protested when he realized what had happened.

"Never," Antonio roared over-dramatically, "if I let you go you'll raise your sword to me again."

"I won't, I won't," Lovino laughed, mirth lacing his words, "let me go, you bastard!"

Antonio seemed to consider it, cocking his chin to the ceiling, before lowering it back down and shaking his head. "Only if you speak the secret words," he prompted.

The Italian bit his lip and contemplated. "I'll kick you in the balls if you don't," he determined.

Antonio's eyebrows quirked at the thought and he paled slightly, "oh c'mon, that's not even an honest guess."

Lovino struggled against the stronger man's hold, genuine irritation setting in. "Give me a hint."

The Spaniard hummed softly as he thought, "tell me you'll be my boyfriend."

The Italian scowled immediately and elbowed the older boy in the stomach, "that's not a hint," he spat when he was released. "And no," he added for good measure, pleased with having gotten free.

"So cruel," Antonio teased, too content with the lighthearted interaction to be disappointed by his rejection. He kept the umbrella in his hold to prevent any further incidents of violence and motioned the Italian to the locker room so he could change into his casual clothes.

Lovino was pleasantly surprised to find his garments had dried, and padded to the opposite side of the lockers to change in privacy. "I'll wash these clothes for you," he said while removing Antonio's t-shirt and pulling on his own.

"Nah, don't worry about it," the older boy replied, unbuttoning his crisp white jacket and shrugging it off his muscular shoulders. "You only had them on for a couple hours," he rationalized, slipping his top onto a hanger and stowing it carefully in his locker. "Besides," he added after a beat, "I don't mind the smell of ink."

Lovino slumped onto a bench to pull on his jeans and rolled his eyes, "I don't smell like ink," he growled, secretly sniffing his shoulder despite himself.

Antonio laughed and folded his work pants over his arm, "I like it, it's cute."

The Italian scoffed and picked the discarded clothes from the floor, folding them in his lap and ignoring the heat trailing up the back of his neck, "well you smell like grease and rotten tomatoes," he returned spitefully.

The Spaniard shook his head, holding back laughter as he leaned down to pull up his jeans. "So mean," he lamented playfully. "You all set?" He called over the lockers when Lovino didn't immediately reply.

"Uh-huh," the Italian said distracted, quickly slipping his socks over his feet before returning to Antonio and pulling on his shoes while the other placed his spare clothes back in his locker.

"You think it's still raining?" Lovino asked as the pair headed towards the front lobby.

Antonio shrugged and hummed thoughtfully, "not sure," he said after a while, "it tends to rain in the fall around here, something to do with the mountains or something, I never really cared to know."

The Italian smirked at the older's admitted negligence, "you wouldn't."

"Aw what's that supposed to mean?"

"I like it, though," Lovino continued, ignoring Antonio's question, "the rain I mean. It doesn't bother me."

The older boy nodded, thinking it was fitting for the Italian to feel that way, but not voicing it. Lovino seemed to have a knack for spotting the beauty where others couldn't, it was a rare and endearing trait, Antonio thought, and the fact that the Italian didn't recognize it made it all the more wonderful. Most like-minded individuals he knew worked for their ability to see beyond the surface, himself included, but for Lovino it was like breathing. Of course he could recognize the good in the world, it was so natural it was almost burdensome, and he feared it left him feeling inadequate in comparison.

Antonio opened the lobby door for Lovino, peering out at the soft raindrops hazily illuminated by orange streetlights before deciding the umbrella wouldn't be needed. "Do you need to be dropped off at the dorm or studio?" He asked, voice accented by the crunch of rubber soles against dampened concrete.

Lovino shrugged slightly, "better be the studio," he lamented, "I'll just fall asleep if I go to the dorm."

"Maybe that wouldn't be a bad thing," the older boy reminded, following the slight Italian to the passenger side of his car and pulling the door open for him.

Lovino fastened his seat belt, waiting for Antonio to enter the vehicle before continuing the conversation. "I won't stay too late, but I don't have a lot of time."

Antonio revved the engine and downshifted into reverse, leveraging his arm behind the younger boy's headrest as he looked out the rear window. "You don't have anything already made that you can show?" He asked, twisting his body back around once he had reversed to ease the car slowly forward.

"No, it's all shit," Lovino scowled, folding his arm over his chest.

"I don't believe you," Antonio replied, glancing at the Italian's scowling face in the periphery of his vision and smiling lightly at the way the street lights illuminated his wispy hairs, encompassing his head with a golden halo.

"It is," Lovino insisted, slumping further into his seat and letting his head fall back against the cushion in order to stare unblinking at the blackened window. "What would you know, anyway?"

Antonio quirked an eyebrow in understanding, "true, maybe I could give better advice if you'd let me see your work."

"No way in hell," Lovino answered immediately, pushing his feet into the floorboard to scoot his body upwards and appear more foreboding.

"Why not?" the Spaniard pressed, ignoring the stern glare he knew was being burned into the side of his head. His question was returned with expected silence, only the occasional squeak of the windshield wiper timing the beats of their travel. "Well anyway, I hope an idea comes to you quickly." He said when the sharp contours of the art studio roof entered his field of vision.

"Me, too," Lovino mumbled in a tone so low Antonio knew he wasn't expected to hear. The older boy pulled next to the outdoor stairwell, knowing from experience that it would be the quickest access point for the Italian. "Thanks for the ride," Lovino said, louder this time, before turning his head to hesitantly study Antonio's gentle gaze.

"Of course," Antonio said, a small but purposeful smile tracing his masculine features. It was nicer than the huge smiles, Lovino thought, it seemed more genuine and pointed, rather than wielded for defense. This smile wasn't meant to diffuse a conflict or abate a bad temper, rather it's small, yet crucial purpose was to convey the feelings of its wearer, and it did its job so well that the Italian barely noticed when he unfastened his seatbelt and leaned across the middle console, placing a chaste peck on the older boy's soft lips.

Neither party was shocked, by this point their mutual sexual attraction was obvious, and, while Lovino still hated the affect Antonio's touch had on him, it no longer surprised him when his body was fitted with the Spaniard's gentle contact. He pulled away hesitantly, admittedly disappointed that the kiss hadn't been pursued, that his taste hadn't been allowed into the older boy's warm mouth. "Well, goodnight then," he said in a tone he hoped sounded nonchalant, wrenching the door open to exit.

"Goodnight," Antonio returned, "and good luck." He managed to call out before the door was slammed shut. Lovino stomped up the metal stairs, taking pleasure in the way they clinked together in a tinny clap and exaggerated his heavy footfalls. He paused briefly at the top of the landing to glance at Antonio's stalling car, before slipping into the hallway and feigning trudging down the hall, only to whip around and peer past the reflecting surface at the finally retreating tail lights.

He smirked at that, satisfied that the Spaniard had waited to make sure he was safely inside the building before leaving. It was confusing, he pondered as he sighed and turned around, stretching his arms over his head as his feet led him unthinkingly to the studio. He knew Antonio wished for them to be together, he had made it abundantly clear, and despite Lovino's self conscious nature, he was fairly certain the man found him attractive, even if he would never audibly admit it. So why then had Antonio not returned his kiss? Lovino wrenched open his flat file and rifled through its cluttered content, attempting to gently excavate a large piece of expensive cotton paper from his drawer and cursing when it dented in the middle. Certainly the Spaniard wasn't eschewing physical contact until he got his way, the Italian's pace quickened at the thought, from fear or anger he did not know.

'Though intimate and physical contact aren't quite the same thing,' his mind provided unhelpfully, making him throw the pencil he had been thoughtlessly nibbling across the room in frustration. He pushed his flat file closed and glanced out the door, glad nobody had witnessed his immature display before ducking to the corner of the studio to retrieve his utensil.

Lovino took the moment to enter the dry side of the room, glancing at the clock to find it was almost 11am before returning to his table and paper to mentally calculate how long he had to work. By the time he had made a neat list of the way he would spend each hour of the next few days on the butcher paper surface, he knew he was just wasting time, putting off the inevitable realization that ever second was ticking away and he still had no idea what to make art about. He let his head rock from side to side, enjoying the way the weight settled into one side of his head before being rolled over again, the undulating rhythm of wind against ears allowing his mind to stay grounded in the present.

The first step was deciding what technique to use. It was an easy decision, Lovino thought. He didn't have much time to allow ink to dry, and with the multicolored prints he tended to make, that immediately eliminated any relief processes. He couldn't do intaglio, he didn't have any unused zinc plates, and even if he sanded the surfaces of his used ones, none were quite big enough to have the impact he wanted. He could always do silkscreen or even a polyester plate, but he wanted to be able to show off his drawing skills, one of the few advantages he had ever claimed to possess in the arts. So that left lithograph; stone, he determined, since he was out of ball-grained plates.

Lovino felt ridiculously pleased with himself for reaching that conclusion, it was small but it was one more task he could tick off his ever-growing list of responsibilities. He wondered how much time had passed as he drummed the lead tip of his pencil against the table, waiting for an idea to come to him. He was lazy when it came to concept, he knew. Most artists researched and sought out their ideas, not sitting with the ambivalence that he tended towards, but they had an access point, something that interested them from the start and gave them a direction. Lovino didn't have that, he had his life and he had art, and he had never cared to intermingle them.

The Italian leaned back in his seat, chewing on his lower lip and staring blankly at the paper looming tauntingly in front of him. He wiggled his foot in anxiety, trying to keep his panic under control, but sensing the deadline drawing nearer and nearer with each hesitant breath. He took to tapping complicated patterns on his knee, and when that failed to abate his panic, he jumped up and paced the room, straightening chairs and untangling apron strings, anything to keep negative thoughts from obstructing the production of ideas.

After untold minutes of aimless cleaning, Lovino paused in the middle of the room, slightly shocked by the sudden silence that descended the studio, no longer filled by the sound of his frantic feet slapping against cement flooring. He stared, eyelids tensed, at the mockingly blank paper, resting so deceivingly innocuous upon the farthest table. Maybe it wasn't a good day to be trying to think of something, he was convinced, finally addressing the void of white he had been unsuccessfully ignoring and walking towards the table to deposit it back into his flat file. He still had a whole week, after all. Plenty of time to produce the work, as long as he planned all his pieces out tomorrow.

Satisfied that it would be okay to allow himself one more peaceful night, Lovino stood in the studio doorway, scanning the room carefully before rolling his shoulders and flicking off the light, closing his eyes as he traveled the familiar path to his dorm.

The next morning came all too quickly, Lovino felt as he threw on fresh clothes, fretful that he had overslept his alarm. He had been up later than he intended the night before, his dreams of an instant sleep dashed when his brother, upon hearing his news, had insisted he relay every detail of the event. Lovino had acted annoyed at the time, and he had been, but he was secretly pleased, and had almost relished the soft sighs and gasps that Feliciano afforded the retelling. He hadn't included the part about not knowing what he would show, it would ruin the beauty of the story, mar it with the gravity of reality; and despite knowing his younger brother was old, and admittedly, mature enough to handle it, Lovino wasn't yet ready to abandon his role as guardian against all things malicious.

Lovino glanced at himself in the mirror while he brushed his teeth, his skin looked healthy, his features soft. The purple petals of sleeplessness no longer lined his eyes, and his hazel orbs seemed warmer, lit by some unknown source. He spit the foamy residue into the sink, filling his mouth with water and swirling it around before emptying it, too. The extra sleep and general care had done him well, but he couldn't help feeling that his health was unimportant if he had nothing to show for it. What was the point of energy if he was unable to expel it, frozen by the failing mechanics of his mind.

"What am I going to do?" Lovino asked his reflection, sizing the image up and fixing it with a pointed stare as if, by will alone, he would receive an answer. When no response was given, and the reflected portrait remained his own, the Italian sighed and visibly wilted, turning dejected to exit the dorm and start his morning class.

The usually tedious courses whizzed by for Lovino, propelling him closer to the time in which he would once more be forced to struggle against his unyielding brain for a concept. He knew he wasn't ready when the time arrived, the emptiness of the day before was fresher than ever, a gaping maw amidst his day to day thought processes. When an hour had passed by without even a hint of a design, Lovino dug his nails into his hairline and chewed his lip nervously, when another flitted by as unproductively as the first, he seriously considered telling Sadiq he wasn't suited for the task.

"I can't do this, can I?" Lovino asked no one, turning his head to the window and wincing against the yellow beaming light. He let his eyes linger there, pleased with the way his eyes stung and watered, a silent retribution for being so shallow. He bit his lip in surprise when a knot formed in his throat and the water tracing his long eyelashes turned to tears, he didn't want this to matter so much, but his self-esteem had long ago affixed itself to it. It wasn't just the show, but his performance in art in general that held his self worth so precariously before him. He had no talents, no redeeming qualities, but printmaking he understood. He had found solace in the medium, had even gone so far as to excel at it. But what did that matter, no one would care if he could print well if he didn't have any ideas to back up his technique. He had fooled himself into thinking he had finally found an area of life in which he was competent, only to find that in this, like everything else, he had come up lacking, missing a key understanding of living that, while so obvious to everyone else, was impossible for him to identify.

Lovino swallowed thickly, looking around the room with a scowl, suddenly disgusted by the presses, the flat files, the ink-stained aprons and smudged palette knives. How ridiculous to think one could find a meaning amongst these things, these tools of frivolous individuals thinking they could make a difference by littering the world with their presumptuous graffiti. Before giving himself time to consider his actions, Lovino dug through his satchel, withdrawing his phone to immediately open his contacts list and select Antonio's name.

He bounced from foot to foot while the phone rang, anxiety growing as each tinny exclamation petered into silence. "Hola!" A chipper voice proclaimed finally, making Lovino sigh audibly from relief.

"Antonio," the Italian started in immediately, not in the mood to prolong his torture, "can you come pick me up?"

"Sure," the agreeable voice replied easily, "why? Is everything okay?"

Lovino gripped the phone to his ear with both hands and nodded, "yes, yeah, I just can't be here anymore. I-I need out." He said, desperately trying to convey the immediacy of his wish.

"Okay," Antonio said hesitantly, deciding he'd ask for the Italian to clarify when they could speak in person. "Are you in the studio?"

"Yeah, but I'll wait for you outside. In front of the studio." Lovino waited for the Spaniard to give a word of understanding before hitting the end button, not bothering to say goodbye. He tossed the device back in his bag and flung it over his shoulder, heading in a half-jog towards the closest stairwell, and breathing a sigh of relief when he exited the stale, pretentious walls and was encompassed by gentle autumn air.

Lovino settled onto the curb and stared expectantly at the street, grateful that he didn't have to wait long before a familiar red car rolled into the lot and parked. The Italian jumped to his feet and started towards the car, beginning on a tirade before the Spaniard had even had the chance to properly exit his vehicle. "Oi, oi, what are you doing? We're not staying here, I want far away from here. Now." Lovino said seriously, gently pushing Antonio back into his seat.

"Lovi, Lovi," the older boy soothed, grabbing the Italian's flying palms and leveling him with a stare. "What's the rush, what's going on?"

"I just, I-" Lovino started, suddenly finding how incredibly hard it was to properly articulate his issue. "I need fresh air." He said lamely, "to clear my head."

Antonio nodded knowingly, not bothered by the dramatics, and eased his car door shut with his foot. "Right, I figured." He said, ignoring the slight blush that marred the Italian's cheeks from being so easily read. "It's a really nice day so I thought we could go on a walk, maybe talk about what's bothering you." He prompted.

Lovino only blinked in reply, fingertips tingling as his senses caught up with his racing brain, allowing him to enjoy the soft breeze that whirled playfully across his body, upsetting the soft brunette tendrils on the nape of his neck. "Yeah, okay," he said after a while, eyes widening in shock when Antonio wrapped warm fingers around his smaller hand and guided him towards the closest neighborhood.

"How's your day been?" The Spaniard asked, other hand slipped into his pocket and posture relaxed.

Lovino only shrugged, eyes pointed downward as he kicked the loose pebbles that littered the sidewalk. "Fine," he said finally, voice so forced that even he didn't believe it, "how about yours?"

Antonio sighed and squeezed the smaller boy's hand, "What's got you so worked up, huh?"

The Italian looked to the older boy's face and immediately regretted it, his expression was so soft and empathetic that even he felt sorry for himself, and his desperation from before flooded back with renewed vigor. Finally he shook his head in reply, unable to find the words to convey his feelings, and not trusting his voice to deliver them even if he could.

"That bad, huh?" Antonio asked, "and you were so happy yesterday, too," he said, sounding regretful.

"it's not bad," Lovino choked out finally, "it's stupid. I'm stupid." He corrected.

"Hey," the Spaniard protested, releasing his hold on the other boy's palm so he could grip the boy's shoulders, kneeling slightly so they were eye level. "Don't say that, Lovi." He said seriously, face stern but caring, "you're not stupid."

Lovino rolled his eyes and jerked away, "I know, I know," he placated, picking up his gait and motioning for Antonio to follow. "I'm just-I don't know," he finished, oxygen sucked so easily from his lungs, "I don't think I'm cut out to be an artist."

"Why do you say that?" Antonio asked as he caught up with the pacing boy and rested an arm across his shoulder.

Lovino didn't answer immediately, he studied the way the golden light filtered through red leaves, illuminating particles of dust and making the sidewalk glisten. He watched as Antonio's elongated shadow stretched past his own, spaghetti limbs matching the movement of their creator. It made him smile despite himself, remembering a time when his mother used to take him and his brother on walks. She told him that his shadow was an extension of himself, and so he had to keep it in check, not allow it to sneak into yards or climb privacy fences. They would always start off so strict, arms at their sides, bodies faced forward on their path, but ridiculousness would always set in eventually, and they'd have contests, seeing whose shadow could reach the highest branch or mar a stranger's front door.

"Hey, a swing set!" Antonio called excitedly, pulling Lovino from his memories.

"Yeah, so what?" Lovino pouted but didn't protest when he was pulled towards the rusted yet sturdy looking playground equipment.

"Sit down and I'll push you," Antonio encouraged, eyes so bright with excitement that Lovino didn't argue.

"Don't push too hard, bastard, I don't want this thing crumbling."

Antonio laughed knowingly and leaned gently into the small of the Italian's back sending him pivoting a few feet into the air. Lovino pumped his legs in response, mounting his escape higher and higher into the air. Eventually the Spaniard pulled away and sat in the swing next to him, kicking his legs hard to match the other's pace. A contagious giggle spread between the pair, elation at feeling so weightless lessening the impact of the world's many grievances.

"I have no idea what to make art about," Lovino admitted after a while, the tender lull of wind against his slight body abating his embarrassment enough to confess it.

"Oh no?" Antonio asked, letting the heel of his foot trail the mulch floor to slow his ascent. "That's surprising."

"Why?" Lovino demanded, voice not as forceful as he would've liked, but feeling too content to correct it.

Antonio tilted his head towards the close-eyed Italian, "because, you're always thinking. Too much, actually," he admitted, "I wish you would let me in more."

Lovino inhaled sharply and knitted his eyebrows, "I don't," he argued, the weight of the lie resting heavily between the two. "And if I did," he started up again, aware that the answer was unsatisfactory, "it's because some things are-well, too hard to talk about."

The Spaniard nodded knowingly, "so make art about them."

"It's not that easy," Lovino snapped, eyes opening instantly so he could glare at the older boy.

Antonio planted his feet on the ground to still his projection and Lovino followed suit, biting the inside of his cheek against the words that weighted heavily on his tongue. "I'm sorry I guess I-I don't understand why it's not-" Antonio started in when the Italian stared at him expectantly.

"They expect you to talk about it," Lovino interrupted, letting his head fall against the cold metal chain of the swing and rocking himself gently with his toes. "If you make something you have to explain what it means."

"So you have ideas, they're just too painful to confront." Antonio supplied, his insight infuriating the smaller Italian.

"Who asked you?" Lovino demanded, turning his head from the boy and folding his chin into his collar.

Antonio snorted half-heartedly and pulled himself from his seat, padding his way behind the Italian and grasping the chains in his palms, leaning his weight against the Italian's back. "Don't worry about other people, Lovi, make an explanation up if you have to," he said thoughtfully, undulating his body weight forward and backward against the leveraged seat. "But I wouldn't let it stop you from making the art you need to make."

Lovino looked up at the hovering Spaniard, heart pounding heavily in his head. The words were easy to say, he had repeated them to himself many times, but they were harder to act upon. It scared him to be so vulnerable, he had fought against it his whole life, building up the walls around him in fear of being recognized for the waste of space he feared himself to be. It seemed so self-serving to make diaristic art, he couldn't imagine how it could ever mean anything to anyone, and it made him cringe to imagine articulating the meaning, carefully undressing every piece of dirty laundry he possessed. Why would he go through such a painful process, only to have his professors think him fickle and egotistic, pumping up his individual problems to such a uselessly inflated status?

"I'm gonna drop out of the show," he said after a while, sighing at the revelation.

"What, no," Antonio argued, drooping his body till his arms were able to wrap around the Italian's neck and leaning his warm cheek against Lovino's.

A shiver traced the entirety of the Italian's spine at the touch and he fixed his mouth into a grimace, "I have to, I'd be letting everyone down if I didn't."

"Lovi, please," Antonio pleaded simply, the following words of encouragement dying on his lips.

"Why do you care, you're not even allowed to go," Lovino returned bitterly, disgusted by his own moping.

"It's important to you," Antonio replied, "and I know it's hard, but it's time you did something just for yourself."

Lovino didn't know what the Spaniard meant, but he didn't question it. He felt he had lived his life solely for himself, manipulating the people and circumstances around him to fit his every need, and now, as if that wasn't enough, he was considering making art that served only as therapy for his own needlessly tortured existence. It made him feel sick with self-loathing, but in a last ditch effort to please someone other than himself, he nodded. "Fine," he said, cringing at the way the word echoed pitifully in his ears, "I'll do it."


	23. Chapter 23

"How's this one?" Antonio asked, closing one eye to inspect a long plank before handing the wood over to the small Italian.

Lovino looked it up and down, running a careful finger over the silken surface before nodding slightly and leaning it against his accumulating pile. "You're getting better at this," he mumbled, eyes averted to make sure the Spaniard didn't take the compliment too seriously.

"Ah, thanks," Antonio smiled, pulling another plank from the rack and peering down the end for any imperfections. "I'll be a master frame maker before you know it!" He teased, laughing lightly when Lovino scoffed.

"It takes more than being able to choose wood, you know."

Antonio glanced up at the Italian and placed a board in the overgrown reject pile, "it must take you forever to do this alone," he acknowledged, "there's like one good piece to every ten bad ones."

Lovino shrugged and diligently continued his work, "it's faster the more you've done it," he said, walking around the older boy to let three more malformed boards clack into the racks. He pulled a scrap of paper from his back pocket and studied the scribbled measurements, "I need two more pieces," he reminded.

Antonio nodded and handed him a plank, "check this one," he offered, waiting patiently for the Italian to slip his note away again. Lovino took the offered wood, checking it meticulously before agreeing it was satisfactory and amending the needed pieces to one. "So are you going to make these today?" Antonio asked, not looking up from his task.

Lovino shrugged and leaned his back against the rack, allowing the Spaniard to finish his inspection. "Yeah, I hate doing it, so better to just get it over with."

Antonio hummed in agreement and handed him a plank. "Yeah, makes sense," he nodded as the Italian studied the wood, "but-"

"But what?" Lovino demanded immediately, head snapping up from his work to glare at the older boy.

Antonio smiled apologetically and started to deposit the reject pieces back in the shelf, "well, you haven't, you know," he alluded, shrugging one shoulder, "made the prints yet, right?"

Lovino pinched the inside of his lip between his teeth, cheeks flushing madly in a combination of shame and anger, "what's it to you?" He demanded, deciding it was better to be vague in a bid to skirt the issue.

Antonio didn't move, his olive eyes peered into Lovi, easily undressing him and his anger. "I'm just," he paused, measuring the words and their possible consequence, "worried."

Lovino scoffed and turned his eyes to the ceiling, folding his arms defensively across his chest. He knew he should be mad, and he was, but more than that he felt disgusted at himself, embarrassed that his trepidation had been so transparent. He had tried to make the work, as soon as he parted with Antonio that Thursday evening, he had lingered in the doorway to the print room, willing his feet to enter; but something held him back, some untold force planted itself between him and his art, and he felt at a loss to bypass it.

"I've got things planned, I just wanted to get the frames done first," he lied, the action leaving an oddly bitter taste in his mouth.

"Oh, I see," Antonio acquiesced too easily, placating tone making Lovino grit his teeth in irritation. "But, if you ever want to talk about it-"

"I don't." Lovino interrupted immediately, thoroughly done with the conversation and the havoc it was wreaking on his already depleted confidence. He glanced down at the shallow nail marks marring the wood in his hands and roughly threw the plank into the heap of approved pieces. "We can go," he grumbled, desperately struggling to fit his arms around the mass of boards and putting up little fight when Antonio came over to help.

"Are you going to have time to eat lunch with me today?" The older boy asked as he carefully fitted the planks under his armpits, hoping the small Italian wouldn't notice that he had taken the heavier load.

Lovino readjusted the wood under his arms and started in a brisk walk toward the register, "what is it, Saturday?" He asked, already mentally ticking off the days and the tasks he needed to complete before Antonio had a chance to nod in reply. "Yeah, I guess that's okay."

Antonio slid a gentle hand on the smaller boy's shoulder, squeezing lightly to ease him into a slower walk. "I'm glad to hear that," he smiled warmly, "I packed a picnic just in case."

"A picnic?" Lovino demanded, holding a barcode out to the cashier when they reached the register and cocking a hip in silence as she scanned. "It's autumn, it's too cold for that, bastard." He growled, shooting the Spaniard an angry glare before easing his face into a pleasant expression when the cashier coughed and gave him his total.

"Have a nice day, dear," he called politely when he had collected his change, pulling a few planks back into his arms and gesturing a stunned Antonio to follow. "What's up with you?" He snapped once they had reached the parking lot.

The older boy laughed once and cocked an eyebrow, "I just don't think I've seen you act so polite," he admitted, glad when the Italian didn't become immediately enraged.

Lovino leaned his boards against the side of Antonio's car and waited for him to unlock the trunk. "Girls are different," he said simply, eyes lidding slightly when a cool autumn wind ruffled his soft hair.

"Why's that? Because you're not attracted to them?" Antonio inquired, pausing from his work of lowering the back seat.

Lovino felt goose pimples bloom across his exposed forearms and shivered slightly, "no." He snapped back quickly, cringing mentally from the promptness of his response.

Antonio finished lowering the seat and crossed around the car to slide each board into the trunk, "oh, so you are attracted to them." His tone was bored, as if he already knew the answer, and it both infuriated and embarrassed the younger boy.

"N-no," Lovino replied slower this time, idly tapping his short nails against the car's chipping paint in a bid to ignore the heat throbbing in his face.

The Spaniard lowered the trunk and wiped his palms together, removing any stray splinters, "so what's the difference then, Lovi?"

The Italian folded his hands into his armpits and leaned his chin into his collar, "unlock the car, bastard, it's cold out here."

Antonio laughed and pulled the passenger door open for the younger boy, "it's been unlocked, but thanks for staying out with me," he teased, chuckling when his reply was met with a string of muttered curses.

The older boy pulled his seat belt across his lap and revved the engine, downshifting into reverse before pausing and peering at Lovino through the slats in the planks, "so, to the studio to drop these off and then lunch?" He prompted, immediately beginning to back out when he was met with a nod.

Lovino leaned his head on the cold window and let his eyes glaze over, watching curiously as the departing parking lot transformed from a row of cars to a looping brook of color. "I still can't believe you packed a picnic, you bastard." He grumbled, making a show of pointing the vents further towards him to emphasize his point.

"You never dress warmly enough," Antonio scolded lightly, eyes remaining on the road as he fiddled with the knobs to turn up the heat.

"Well if my laptop hadn't been stolen, maybe I'd be able to check the weather." Lovino snapped back bitterly, unconsciously pressing himself closer to the chilled window. He cringed when Antonio coughed and apologized. "Whatever, forget it," he amended, pinching the fabric of his slacks between his thumb and forefinger. It was true that he had lost his means to checking the forecast, but it wasn't the complete reason for his under dressing. On days that he wasn't meeting with the Spaniard, he dressed ridiculously, inevitably having to shed multiple layers as soon as he entered the over-heated halls of the art building. But with Antonio it was different, his already highly attuned fashion sense went into overdrive, he found all his coats obnoxious, hitting his body in all the wrong ways, bulging awkwardly and making him look a mess. Eventually he decided, better to look good than feel good, and if some tiny part of his traitorous mind imagined a scenario in which Antonio took off his own jacket and offered it to him, well, that was something else entirely.

"You can grab a coat while I take in the wood," Antonio offered helpfully, flicking on his turning signal and easing his foot onto the brake.

"Nah, I don't want to go all the way up there," Lovino replied, pushing his body from the window and crossing his legs, "I have a sweater in the studio, I'll just get that."

Antonio nodded and eased the car next to the curb. "Bring these to the wood shop, right?" He asked, shifting into park and pulling the key from the ignition.

"Yep, just lean them against the wall," Lovino confirmed, unbuckling his seat belt and climbing from the car, shivering when a brisk wind pushed past his lithe body. He started towards the nearest door, "I'll be right back," he called over his shoulder, breaking into a muted jog as soon as he entered the building. He tromped up the stairs, scaling them two at a time until he reached the second floor landing and slowed his pace to a purposeful walk. He pushed his newly perspiring hands into his pockets and tried not to concentrate on the hollow click of his loafers against the scuffed linoleum floors. Every step was measured through foreboding beats, the rhythm of his descent isolated and emphasized as if he were being made privy to the sound of the nails driven into his own coffin.

He paused in the doorway of the studio, mind numb with apprehension, before scoffing at himself and padding in, eyes pointed purposefully toward the apron rack. He untangled his marled olive sweater from the pile and held it firmly to his chest, turning on his heel and breathing heavily as if some monstrous beast would be looming behind him, ready to pounce. Instead of a malicious phantom, however, he spotted his three freshly grained stones, sitting where he had left them yesterday, edges dark with gum arabic and precisely sharpened litho crayons resting on the borders. Soon he was running a wistful finger across the protected smooth surface, mentally willing the ancient rocks to transmit their knowledge into him, to inject him with the creativity of the individuals that had previously marred their limestone faces.

"Lovi?" A voice interrupted his silent concentration, the familiarity of the warm timbre the only thing that prevented him from jumping in surprise.

Lovino snapped his head up and scowled, covertly maneuvering his body to hide the blank stones from view, "what?"

Antonio took a few hesitant steps into the darkened studio and paused, craning his neck slightly to see over the Italian's shoulder, "are you ready to go?"

"Y-yeah," Lovino agreed, stomping forward and grabbing the Spaniard by the hand, pulling him into the hallway before he had a chance to see how unproductive he had truly been. "That was fast," he added absentmindedly.

Antonio glanced back at the retreating doorway, eyebrows knit in both confusion and worry, before shrugging it off and laughing, "I guess, I just took them all in at once."

"Bastard, don't be so reckless," Lovino chastised, heated palm unconsciously strengthening it's hold.

"Aw, I'm fine, but it's sweet of you to worry," Antonio cooed, winking when Lovino glanced up at him, disgust tracing his features.

"I'm not," He argued, yanking his hand away when his brain finally registered it's position.

"Oh no?" Antonio teased, holding the stairwell door open for the pair to pass through.

"No," Lovino answered immediately, "I was worried about you denting the planks."

The older boy smiled knowingly, "oh, I see. Well, they're fine."

"Good." Lovino growled, voice muffled as he pulled his sweater over his head. He walked up to the car and yanked the door open, falling ungracefully into the seat and buckling his seat belt. "Where are we going, anyway?" He asked when Antonio joined him in the vehicle.

"There's a park really close to here," the Spaniard explained as he revved the engine and eased the car forward.

"Oh great, so a bunch of moms can freak out thinking we're scoping out their kids," Lovino groaned, rolling his eyes to the window.

Antonio laughed and risked a glance to the slumping boy, "well, it's pretty cold, like you said, maybe there won't be any out there."

Lovino scoffed and pulled his legs up to his chest, rubbing his fingertips absentmindedly on the stitching of his slacks. "I don't understand why we couldn't just have a quick lunch like normal people."

The Spaniard eased on his brake and gently took a turn, navigating the back roads calmly and carefully, as if he were transporting the most precious of cargo. "If you need to get work done, we can go back." He offered, tone unassuming.

"No," the younger boy answered immediately, desperate to keep his anxiety at bay for at least a few more hours. "No, it's okay. We've already made it this far."

Antonio issued a quiet hum in affirmation, not bothering to mention the fact that they were only a few miles from the school. "I just thought it would be nice, something different," the Spaniard explained simply.

Lovino didn't respond, he didn't need to. It surprised him how easy it had been to become comfortable with someone, he wondered if it was true of everyone, or if it was a trait specific to Antonio. The boy seemed so audaciously perceptive to him, he coveted his every gesture, his every word, and that attention made their communication feel effortless.

The short drive seemed both to stretch and enfold upon itself as the Italian worked to excavate the common ground between the deeply buried relics of before and the palpable reality of now. He knew this feeling that was encasing his body, it was distant but not forgotten, and his throat burned from the memory.

He shifted awkwardly when Antonio pulled into a gravel parking lot, yanking the door open before the car had completely stopped, the cold autumn air a welcome respite from the stifling emotions that threatened to surface. The older boy was blissfully unobtrusive, easily recognizing the look of apprehension marring his companion's handsome features. He pulled his satchel onto his back and silently handed the Italian a well-worn blanket, sliding an arm across his shoulders before directing their bodies to a well-worn trail. Lovino leaned into the touch, enjoying the way Antonio's tender breath tousled his stray hairs.

"This looks like a good spot," Antonio said after a while, regretfully breaking the spell of comfortable silence.

Lovino pulled back, immediately missing the heat the Spaniard's strong body afforded. He pulled the musty blanket to his chest and gave a noncommittal nod, "sure, it's fine." He unfolded the quilt, grasping two corners in his hands before flapping the fabric outward, settling it to the ground as soon as all the wrinkles had been released. He walked to the border and fell to his knees, cringing at the brittle branches that snapped beneath his weight.

"You have to admit, it's a beautiful spot for a picnic," Antonio chimed happily, pulling his knapsack from his back and lowering it to the floor, busying himself with pulling containers from its contents.

Lovino blinked and turned his head, mind finally processing the gentle sloping hills of his surroundings. He stared rapt at the thick trunks of the mostly bare trees, watching as a vagrant gust upset the carpet of red and yellow leaves, pulling the debris away in a colorful cyclone. He turned back to Antonio, staring silently as the boy uncovered each dish, the strong and flavorful scents adding life to the muted fall afternoon. He took in the Spaniard's large hands, marred with the occasional scar, and his soft face, barely perceptible wrinkles from years of smiling pressed into the tan skin. The patterns of time were beautiful, he decided, and it made him regret that he had only just realized it.

"It's nice," he said finally, "but it's still too damn cold."

Antonio laughed and offered a fork to the boy, "I thought you liked Autumn."

Lovino shrugged and pressed the cold tines against his bottom lip as he measured his answer, "I do, or at least, I like the way it looks," he explained. "But I like the feeling of warm weather better."

The Spaniard nodded and took a bite of the nearest dish, chewing silently before responding. "You should come home to Spain with me some time then, you'd love it."

Lovino knit his eyebrows and scoffed, "no way, you're bad enough, I can't imagine having to meet your family."

Antonio laughed awkwardly and coughed, quickly averting his eyes before recovering with a shrug, "well, that won't be a problem."

The Italian stared mystified at the older boy, forcing a large mouthful of food down his throat before speaking. "What do you mean, you have pictures of them all over your house. I thought-"

"I just-" Antonio interrupted, but then paused, unsure of how to continue. "I guess you could say that they, well, disowned me."

Lovino's eyes widened and he dropped his fork, shock injecting ice into his limbs, freezing both his movements and thoughts. He didn't know how to react, he had always assumed Antonio's life was perfect, and he was happy knowing it. Now his mind drowned in a sick mixture of guilt, anger, confusion and sympathy, and he felt at a loss to navigate the tumultuous current.

"It's okay," Antonio amended immediately, ducking his head in slight embarrassment, "you don't have to worry, Lovi. It's been this way for years now, I'm used to it."

"But," the Italian tried to argue, fighting around his leaden tongue, "but why?"

Antonio exhaled loudly and gave a sideways grin, "because I'm gay." He said simply.

Lovino bit the inside of his cheek and chewed it viciously until his taste buds were tainted with the coppery taste of blood. He felt the ground shift beneath him, displacing his perspective of his life along with it. Never before had he felt so grateful for his life in Austria, for Roderich, for Elizabeta. He wondered if his mind had conjured all its problems, desperate for stimulation in his otherwise highly sheltered life.

"I-but-" he searched for words, for something to comfort the older boy in retribution for the many times he had done it for him, but his thoughts were blank. "Do you hate them?" He asked finally, cringing as soon as the words left his mouth.

Antonio snorted and shook his head, "no, God no, but sometimes I wish I did." He confessed, "it would make it easier."

"Make what easier?" Lovino pressed, heart beating madly inside his chest.

The older boy sighed and slumped, "well," he began, pausing to take another bite of food as he sorted his thoughts. "I wouldn't be at school, for one."

"But you like school," Lovino interrupted, tone uncertain.

Antonio nodded readily, "yes, yes I do, school's fine, and I'm grateful for being here now that I've met you," he agreed, smiling slightly when the Italian's cheeks reddened. "But before coming here, I had a job I liked, well, loved actually." He continued, eyes turning to the dim gray sky as memories returned, "I was working at a restaurant, it was small but comfortable, the regulars were nice, my boss was great," he petered off, "I think I would've been happy to have worked there forever, to settle down and live a low-key life."

Lovino waited patiently for the Spaniard to continue his story, eyes and ears rapt with attention."So why didn't you?" He prompted eventually, unable to fight his ravenous need for knowledge of the older boy's life.

Antonio blinked and knitted his eyebrows expectantly, as if the churning white clouds would supply his answer. "I ask myself that a lot," he admitted, "and the answer changes all the time. Lately, I've been telling myself destiny made me do it, so I could meet you."

Lovino shivered and tucked his hair behind his ear, unconsciously scooting closer to Antonio's side. "I wish that was the truth, I really do," the Spaniard laughed sadly, sliding a hand across his face in shame, "but I think the real reason I did it, was to make them proud." The Italian didn't respond, he couldn't, and Antonio understood. "I thought, if I go to school, if I start my own restaurant, they'll have to love me then." He leaned his head onto Lovino's shoulder, his soft curls tickling the Italian's nose, but the younger boy dared not move. "The worst part is," Antonio continued, voice more sombre than the Italian had ever remembered it being, "I still believe it. I think I always will."

Lovino breathed heavily, chest vibrating with pleasantries, the calculated consolations and easily afforded mercies, were absent from the older boy, and what was left was so beautiful, so wonderfully whole in all its imperfection, that it made his heart bloom in his chest, rocking his body with the rhythm of its beating. He lowered his head to Antonio's and pressed a kiss against his eyebrow, the salty taste of skin melting sweetly across his tongue. He let his slender fingers comb through the Spaniard's soft waves, easing the man's head up just enough to press his heated lips against Antonio's. His teeth nipped lightly at the older boy's plump bottom lip, wiling him to open his mouth, to invite him into his warmth. The Spaniard complied without argument this time, pushing aggressively into the kiss, greedily taking in the Italian's alluring taste.

Lovino pulled closer to the older boy, leg's straddling the others thigh as his fingers gripped his shirt, knuckles white from the effort. He wanted to be closer, to be enveloped by the white heat that permeated Antonio's existence, and as hard as he searched, as far as he reached, the cold in his head remained, frozen solid from years of neglect. He dipped a hand to Antonio's hip, regretfully pulling his mouth away and trailing soft kisses down his neck as his fingers searched blindly for the button on his slacks.

"N-no," Antonio argued halfheartedly, breathless.

Lovino ignored him and softly nipped his collar bone, letting his fingers trail Antonio's waistband, gentle touches to his lower stomach making the older boy shiver with pleasure. "Lovi, wait," Antonio started again, voice strained from fighting.

"No one's around, it's okay," Lovino argued, voice heavy.

"No, it's not that." Antonio willed his arm forward and touched Lovino's shoulder, pushing the younger boy back until they were eye to eye. They addressed each other wearily, panting heavily as the gravity of reality descended back into their bodies.

"What's wrong?" Lovino demanded, dizzy from want.

"I'm not going to do this, not until you agree to be my boyfriend."

Lovino fell back onto his heels, licking his inflamed lips as he measured logic against desire. "Fuck," he moaned finally, letting his body slump over and burying his head into the scratchy folds of the blanket. "Why does it matter, bastard, it's just sex."

Antonio sighed and refastened his button, "it matters," he said simply, not pushing the issue. He knew the Italian loved him, it was blatant in the way he interacted, the way he allowed Antonio to be privy to his perceived weaknesses, and it was unfair to both of them to pretend the affection was solely physical in nature, even if it meant finally satisfying a deeply aching need.

Antonio settled back into a sitting position and picked up his fork, watching Lovino's still body as he ate. Finally, after a few muted moments, the Italian stirred, pushing himself up and reaching for his own fork, quietly joining the Spaniard in his meal.

"Tell me about your parents," Antonio said after a while, hoping to abate any unease that settled in the newly stifling air.

Lovino scoffed around a forkful of food and swallowed, "they're dead." He said simply. "Or at least my Mom is, I never knew my Dad that well."

Antonio nodded knowingly and put his fork down, "but tell me about them."

Lovino knit his eyebrows and wondered how he could explain the difference between his Mother dead and his Mother alive, how the realities didn't intersect, how they were impossible to link. At this moment he knew his Mother dead, splayed across the sidewalk, body twisted as if participating in a dance, skirt bunched across knees once so soft and round, now knotted and grotesque. He didn't know how to describe the split his existence made that day, the current that had been coursing forward split suddenly, forcing him to start a new life in which he did not witness his Mother's death, in which the relationships, the conversations, the laughter that had been representative of his life before, had been displaced, as if part of a distant double life.

He didn't know how to explain it, and so instead he said what he did know. "I hate her."

Antonio frowned slightly, an odd look on his normally kind face, "your Mom?"

Lovino only nodded, words dead in his throat.

Antonio didn't demand an explanation, instead he silently examined the younger boy, trying to decipher the complex emotions that marred his soft features. "You ready to go?" He said finally when the Italian shivered.

Lovino nodded and immediately started gathering empty containers, stuffing them into Antonio's arms so he could begin to fold the blanket. "I need to get back and make those frames," he said quickly, watching while the Spaniard zipped up his satchel and slung it over his shoulder.

Antonio raised to his feet and tugged the Italian's sleeve, gesturing the boy to follow next to him down the rocky trail. "Have you started your prints yet?" He asked finally, visibly swaying from the weight of the burdensome question.

Lovino fought the anger and shame that swelled in his chest, desperately reminding himself that the boy with which he was brushing shoulders was one of the few supporters he possessed. "No, bastard," he seethed, unable to stop himself from delivering the cruel nickname.

"Why not?" Antonio asked, timbre dressed with tender compassion.

The Italian rolled his shoulders and sighed, confession weighing heavily in his mind, "because I don't know what to make it about, alright?"

The Spaniard hummed in acknowledgment, vaguely glad that that was still the problem, rather than a new trepidation in the already taxed Italian's life. "Have you ever thought about making art about your Mom?"

Lovino snapped his eyes up and scowled, "no, why would I?" He demanded, confused why Antonio would even bring it up.

The older boy shrugged and turned his eyes to the sky, "you just," he paused as he considered his words, "seem bothered. I mean, I understand," he diffused quickly when his companion tensed. "It took me a long time to admit my problems with my family."

"I'm not going to do that," Lovino cut in, thoroughly done with the topic, "I can't."

Antonio's eyes lidded in appreciation of his apprehension, "Right, I know, and that's why I think it might help if you figured it out in your art. I just know that cooking helped me a lot, so-"

"No, fucking listen, I said I won't. I hate her, I don't want to think about her." Lovino growled, voice climbing in range.

"You can't or you won't, which one is it?" Antonio challenged, not at all bothered by the Italian's anger.

Lovino's mouth gaped with surprise, "I-I won't." He stammered, hoping he sounded more certain than he felt.

Antonio smirked and sighed, digging his keys from his pocket as his car came into view. "Just a suggestion," he reminded, diffusing the argument before it had a chance to bloom.

"A bad one," Lovino bit back, pulling the dirty blanket into his chest and breathing heavily into it's musty folds.


	24. Chapter 24

"Are you sure you don't me to go in with you?" Antonio asked for what seemed the hundredth time during the short car ride back to the studio.

Lovino nodded and unfastened his seat belt, reaching for the car handle before glancing back at the older boy one more time. "I'm sure," he confirmed. "I've got so much to do."

Antonio reached a hand across the middle console and squeezed the Italian's forearm, "don't forget to make time for eating and sleeping," he reminded, concern in his voice. "And call me if you need anything."

Lovino scoffed and turned his head away, unwilling for the Spaniard to see the small smile that tugged at his lip from being treated so tenderly, "okay, Mom." He chastised sarcastically.

Antonio smiled lightly, but remained solemn, "I mean it, take care of yourself."

Lovino ducked his head and sighed, growing uncomfortable from the attention, "fine, fine, I know," he insisted, pulling his arm from the older boy's grip and lifting himself from his seat. He stepped into the chilled air, hesitating with his palm grasped tightly against the car door, face dressed in apprehension. He knew he needed to be alone in order to properly conceptualize his pieces. The Spaniard's comfortable presence left him ambivalent to his duties, and while it was an admittedly enjoyable respite from his normally brooding attitude, the affected peace accomplished little in the way of production.

"Well, bye," the Italian said lamely, lip quirking in distaste from the hollow sendoff.

"Bye, Lovi," Antonio replied, tender tone breathing depth into the short salutation.

Lovino slammed the door shut, watching the Spaniard's gaze through his reflection. He stood in place, silently daring Antonio to move first, to drive away and break the spell. He would do it, but he lacked both the energy and the will to knowingly launch himself back into the world of anxiety and self-doubt. Finally, the older boy blinked and lifted a hand, curling his fingers into his palm in an intimate wave, before nodding and pulling away from the curb. Lovino watched transfixed, the time between his still body and the retreating Spaniard stretching, entering it's own realm that was parallel, but not directly proportional to the winding leaves that jerked spastically through gusting winds.

Finally, when the last perceptible trace of Antonio's car had escaped his view, Lovino stepped away from the curb, turning slowly on his heel and heading dejected to the wood shop. Up to this point he had procrastinated under the pretense that when the time came to work, he would be ready, sufficiently charged and emotionally prepared to tackle the production of new pieces. However, now that the time was here, breathing down his neck with the immediacy of his deadlines, he felt inexplicably drained. The mere thought of tolling away in the print room weighted his feet with lead and sent a vague throb across his temples.

He paused in the opening of the darkened room, coughing lightly against the smell of sawdust as he lifted a hand to absently trace calloused fingertips against the rough door jamb. It was stupid to make his frames before the pieces were finished, it had been bad enough that he had been forced to purchase wood before starting them. He stepped hesitantly backwards and walked towards the stairwell instead, determined to at least draw up thumbnails before beginning the heavy labor of frame making.

Lovino paced briskly into the printmaking studio, noisily exhaling a breath he didn't realize he was holding when he found the room to be empty. He flicked the light on and yanked his flat file open, pulling his sketchbook and a mechanical pencil from its contents before slamming it shut again and tossing the items on the closest table. He fell ungracefully into a chair and dropped his open palm over the rolling pencil, letting his nails scratch the butcher paper surface as he drew his fingers around it. The Italian closed his eyes and shook his head, concentrating intently on the way his hair was tousled by the restless movement and the way his shallow breaths filled his ever-swaying chest. His tongue felt too big in his mouth and his jaw ached from the effort of keeping his teeth from baring together. His body was a fortress, safeguarding him from the creases of history carved into his unyielding mind.

Lovino folded his legs into his chair and pressed dark lead against the crisp sketchbook page, hoping the contact would somehow pull on his muscle memory, rouse his body from it's suspension. His grip increased with every ticking minute, palm beginning to perspire as the soft afternoon light sharpened, indicating the quickly approaching evening. "The fuck is wrong with you, bastard?" Lovino gasped bitterly, shoulders tensing when the brittle lead snapped under the mounting pressure of his will.

The Italian drew his wrists to his eyes and grasped at his hairline, wrenching his nails across his scalp, uncaring of the mess he was making of his hair. He felt at a loss, he was no stranger to art block, it was a familiar feeling, one he knew was common; but this sensation was new, he felt devoid of all thought, detached from the experience of life, of memory, and it was unsettling. He groaned against the surge of disgust swelling in his ribcage, the pale blue veins that traveled the banks of his thin flesh, the shallow breaths quickening in his nose,the persistent beating perceptible in his fingertips: they were all detestable, tools for the continuation of a wasted life.

Lovino stood before his mind could process his intention, sending his chair clattering to the ground. He didn't flinch, didn't move to fix it, instead he took down the hall, sketchbook forgotten as he cut a quick course to his dorm room. Maybe seeing his brother would help, remind him of his identity, anchor him back to reality. The Autumn air in all its reverence did nothing to comfort him as he jogged to his resident hall, not bothered by the scene he must be making to passing strangers. When he finally reached his room, fingers shaking and breath hitching painfully, his brother was absent. Lovino vaguely wondered why he had assumed he'd be there on a weekend afternoon. After all, Feliciano was outgoing and enjoyed the company of others, he didn't spend his time gnawing on the bones of the day like his older brother was wont to do.

The Italian slid his right toe on the heel of his left loafer, wrenching his foot from its warm confines before repeating the process for the other. He trudged to his bed and sat down, hunched with his elbows over his knees before finally giving up his fight against gravity and letting his body fall to the side. He grasped his quilt in his hand, intently watching the undulating folds of woven fabric. In truth he knew what he could do, Antonio's suggestion echoed hauntingly through his brain, blocking out all other thoughts. The sheer persistence of it ignited a small fire inside him, he felt mad at the older Spaniard for monopolizing his thoughts, and mad at himself for being unable to surmount them.

He pulled himself to his feet, trudging wearily over to Feliciano's desk and slumping into the chair. An overbearing congregation of static faces peered back at him, features flattened by the camera's inability to capture anything more than a shallow representation of life. He remembered being dressed up and lugged to photo studios when he was still so young, limbs stiff in finely pressed, rarely worn outfits. It was a pathetic pastime, he thought, to produce desperate relics that insisted upon new generations that "I was here, I mattered." Maybe he had mattered once, to someone, but she was gone, and so he had made sure his photos were, too. Feliciano cried when he realized. The older Italian hadn't understood that at the time, after all, it was only the portraits of him he had torn into pieces. Photos of their friends, their parents, their grandparents and even Feliciano himself, all remained.

Lovino sighed and reached for a frame, holding it weakly in his hand as he regarded his and his brother's faces, aged two years younger. He hadn't understood Feliciano's grief, but he had conceded to it, apologized. To repent he had promised not to argue when the younger brother asked for a photo to be taken of them. Thankfully, Feliciano had been kind about it, not asking for more than one or two a year, but he still hated it, and he went out of his way to avoid viewing the processed film.

He slid the frame back in place and reached for another, hand pausing hesitantly before regaining it's purpose and wrapping itself around an older, heavier portrait. Lovino stared at the countenance solemnly, the plain face, plain brown hair, plain hazel eyes. She sat alone in the frame, isolated, face pained. It wasn't at all representative of the way he remembered her: voice light and warm, features intelligent but kind. The day that portrait was taken he and Feliciano had been brought to the studio, it was to be a family portrait but his father hadn't arrived, he was busy with work, as was typical. His mother hadn't been fazed, she never was, or at least, she never showed it to him. The photo shoot was to go on as planned, only minus one person, but then Feliciano spit up on himself and Lovino wet his pants, and his mother ended up alone, standing as the lone, strong icon for her messy family.

Lovino let his forehead fall to the desk and held the frame gripped tightly in both hands, wrestling with himself mentally. He would make work about her, it was a hard decision, but a necessary one. He would undress the photos, reveal the imperceptible stories behind them. There was no point in delving too deeply, in drudging up forgotten feelings or memories, he would relay truth and that was it. It would be clinical, exact, and, he hoped, quick.

Lovino stood and collected a few more photos, stacking them neatly on top of one another and holding them carefully to his chest while he slipped on his shoes. He threw his satchel on his back and flew from the room, making sure to lock the door before padding briskly to the photocopier. He wondered what Antonio would say if he saw him, photos folded protectively in his arms, frantically following the older boy's advice. He supposed he might call him brave, or some other equally presumptuous compliment. It wasn't true though, he thought as he lifted the top to the machine and slipped a photo from it's frame, laying it face down on the glass surface. Bravery wasn't a quality he possessed, he had spent his life fleeing, desperately and systematically destroying any component of life that would cause him any more pain than he had already endured.

That's why he wouldn't let Antonio be his boyfriend, he nodded to himself as he collected his copies, closing the machine and pacing towards the printmaking studio. He had already gone too far with the boy, he knew, and it was no longer solely a sexual attraction, a truth that he had tried so hard to ignore. He doused a copy with acetone and positioned it on a stone, pulling the matrix towards his hip and hoisting it up to the closest press. He knew what relationships could do to people, the sacrifices one had to make. His own mother had died for her love of his dad, or was it for her love of him, of Feliciano? His heart panged guiltily in his chest as he drew a foil of newsprint and a tympan sheet across his stone, unlocking the press and rolling it forward. When the squeegee had reached the end of the copied photo, he released the pressure and reversed the motion, instantly pulling off the coverings to appraise his work.

The transfer of his mother sat perfectly against the block, too perfectly. He ran back to the table and took up a litho crayon and a bottle of inky tusche, waiting only momentarily to mentally arrange his strokes before attacking the surface, adding to the image, expanding it, and yet crossing over the lies, scribbling away the inconsistencies. He remembered being told once that memory was faulty, that every time one dwelled on a past event, they altered it, and so the most pure recollections were those untouched. It had scared him at the time because he was constantly rehashing past events, allowing them to affect his every reaction, and he didn't want them tarnished. Now he just refused to believe it, allowing himself ignorance if it meant believing a lie that felt more valid, because there was no way he could forget that day. He could recall every detail: the rich smell of coffee, the cheap faux finish of the wallpaper, the brightly shining white linoleum floors.

Lovino pulled another photocopy from his stack, this one of a young Lovino and Feliciano playing happily, and poured acetone over it, repeating the transferring process. His mother had been crying that morning, it was weird to hear, it had unsettled him; But when she appeared in the living room, face bright with a smile, he allowed himself to relax, to believe everything was okay. It wasn't of course, but he didn't have the foresight then that he had now, so when she said they had to go to a hotel to meet a friend, he didn't argue. Even when she sat him in the lobby's coffee shop and asked him to keep an eye on his brother while she went to the bathroom, he said nothing, he didn't have a reason to. His mother had protected him, she had done so in her life and then her death, and he had let her do it, too stupid to know the difference.

Lovino straightened his spine and wiped his sweating forehead with the back of his wrist, silently measuring his work before sharpening his litho crayon and returning with renewed vigor. He wondered how often children lost their whole family in one day, not that he knew for sure that his grandfather and dad were dead, he had only half listened to the police, too stunned with shock and grief to properly process anything. It had something to do with the mafia, that he knew, but then the details grew fuzzy. He had thought about finding out for sure many times, but had ultimately decided against it, determining that some truths were better left buried. What he did know, was that his mother didn't have to die, at least, not in the way she had. But she was smart, smarter, he thought, than even his father gave her credit for. When she received the call, the one intended for her husband, the one that, Lovino could only surmise, told her his identity had been found out, and that he and his family were being targeted, she had figured out how to protect her sons.

Lovino drew his pencil away, and stared at his work numbly. He didn't know how much time had gone by, he was so lost in his creation. It was night now, that he could tell from the dark, reflecting window. The piece was messy, yet clean, and the scribbled precision reminded him of the print he had seen in the coffee shop that fated afternoon. It was the first time he really remembered feeling something about art, or even really noticing it. He had gotten lost in the supple yellow background and the thick, haphazard blotches of red. Cy Twombly, he knew the artist now, had researched it ages ago, but at the time names didn't matter. What was important was the feeling it gave him, it had charged his lungs with electricity, captured his attention so completely that he barely noticed when a blur of color whizzed past the window to his right, when a shrill scream filled the air. When he tugged Feliciano out the door with him, childlike curiosity overwhelming his need to be obedient, he saw his mother, saw the blood blossoming from her body. He saw it, but he didn't. The terror blinded him, deafened him, his young senses found it impossible to rise to the intensity of the event. He was still just a boy with his younger brother, unimportant to the many occupants of the world, and yet somehow the sole terminus, the sole destination for terror. His brother was crying, had long ago wrenched himself from his hold, but Lovino stood unmoving, tears refusing to fall. He felt he understood what that painting on the wall in the coffee shop he had inhabited decades, no, centuries ago, meant. That same electricity charged him now, that same red consumed his sight.

As soon as the realization entered his head, he was ashamed. His mother lay dead on the sidewalk and even then, in the intensity of the moment, his brain departed, it allowed him to forget. It was disgusting, the feeling more invincible than any he had experienced, and he found the power of description to be beyond him: the pain, the terror, the pure hatred for himself, for the situation, was out of proportion to his own dimensions. What he knew, the one thing he could comprehend in that loathsome moment, was that too soon the pain would soften, over time it would be less real, less palpable. He would have moments, days even, when he didn't think of her, in her death or life, and it wasn't acceptable. He needed the pain to last, to burn eternally in the recesses of his memory, because if he remembered her death, and the grief it caused him, the all-consuming, mind numbing grief, then it meant she had been alive.

Lovino clumsily mixed his etches, eyes glazed as his muscles worked from memory, applying syrupy mixture to the heavily worked surfaces. He had wondered at one time, why she brought him and his brother with her, why she allowed the chance that they would see. It had only been a few years ago that he finally understood, the answer deposited to him when, in a fit of detestable, selfish weakness, he had attempted to take his own life. He didn't like to think of it now, that person embarrassed him, as self-indulgent as he often felt, that person was worse, completely consumed by the inner-workings of his own mind. But he remembered it. As much as he tried to beat the memory away, it persisted. A teenaged Lovino, sitting hunched on the floor, metal bed-frame digging into his back, pilfered pills sweating in his palm. In the end he hadn't gone through with it, the sound of his brother singing blissfully a couple rooms away had made him stop.

At the time his relationship with Feliciano wasn't strong, he blamed the younger boy for his problems in school, for his clumsiness, for all his shortcomings. He was grateful that age had brought with it the realization that perpetual cheerfulness took its toll, too; that sometimes, a smile can be a coping mechanism. However, then, in all his naivety, he had yet to apprehend that complexity of life. He hated his brother, and yet, he hated the thought of him alone more. He gulped against the new understanding, tossing the remaining pills to the floor and cringing when they clattered across the hard wood.

His life was about more than just him, he couldn't die knowing Feliciano would be alone, left without a single remaining relative. And then he understood why his mother had done it: she was afraid of what would happen if he and and his brother weren't there. It was likely that the police would find them, even if they had been left at home, but she didn't want to risk it. Possibly, Lovino thought guiltily, she was scared of what her older son might do, scared that he might hide from the police, convinced that he and Feliciano were better off trying to manage alone, rather than with some assigned stranger. If she had thought that, she hadn't been wrong. Certainly, he had considered it numerous times as he lay in bed at night, staring at the ceiling and dreaming of what life might have been like if he hadn't been sent to Austria, if he had managed to convince the police that, yes, he was old enough to raise his younger brother. But he wasn't of course, and she had known that. In the end he went to bed with ten pills in his stomach. He slept heavily, and the next morning he felt fine, not even a stomach ache gracing his system from all his effort.

Lovino ticked the side of the press with a permanent marker, double checking the size of the squeegee before turning to his already laid ink slab. He charged the roller a few times before letting it rest, turning to wipe the surface of his stone with a dirty sponge. It was hard printing such large lithographs alone, but he was used to it, driven by his introversion to manage through. Once the stone was sufficiently damp he re-handled the heavy leather roller, carefully depositing a thin layer of black ink on the prepared matrix. He continued the process two more times, depositing the roller back in it's holster when he was satisfied with the distribution of ink and lining up the registration marks on his expensive cotton paper. Once everything was properly fitted, he picked up the grease-laden tympan and adjusted it on the stone, unlocking the press when he was happy with its position and turning the lever forward. He stopped when he reached his second mark and released the pressure, turning the lever backwards and pulling the tympan from the surface before the bed had stopped rolling. He laid the sheet on a table and examined his fingers for grime before lifting up the corners of his cotton paper. The sheet flapped seductively but he kept his eyes averted, refusing to view it until he had laid it on a table and walked a few steps away.

He turned around and examined the print, taking in the layered images, the spaces that undulated precariously between confusion and clarity, realism and abstraction. It was good, he registered mentally. "It's good," he repeated out loud, desperately trying to force his numb brain into realization. The Italian stood for an untold amount of time, taking in every stroke, every cell of the freshly printed image. Before he knew it he was standing over his knapsack, scrambling for his phone and opening the contact list.

He didn't move, didn't blink while he waited through the tinny rings. His head snapped up with purpose when a bright "hola" fell upon his ear.

"I need you to pick me up," he breathed, voice deep.

"Lovi? What's going on?" Antonio demanded, chilled by the Italian's tone.

"I need to leave."

"Leave and go where?" The Spaniard pleaded, worry heavy in his voice.

Lovino opened his mouth and paused, "I don't know, anywhere, your house."

"Okay," Antonio nodded, "I'll be there in a-"

"Two hours," the Italian interrupted immediately, stealing a glance back to his print.

"What? But-" The older boy started to argue.

"Pick me up in two hours," he repeated firmly, waiting for Antonio to agree hesitantly before ending the call.

He dropped the phone on the table and returned immediately back to work, losing himself in the process of printing, muscles moving mechanically until he was standing in front of a newly filled drying rack, hands stained with ink and body tired from effort.

"Lovi," a soft, familiar voice sounded from the doorway. Lovino snapped his head in recognition and pulled the string of his apron, releasing the knot. "Is everything okay?" The Italian didn't speak, he couldn't yet, not until they were out of the studio, away from these prints. Antonio regarded the boy carefully, watching as his lip twitched and he pulled his apron over his head, walking it to the nearby coat hanger. He took the moment to peer through the metal drying rack, hesitantly lifting a shelf so he could better view the image. "Wow," he whispered to himself quietly before easing the shelf back down and turning, "these are beautiful."

Lovino blinked and walked back to the Spaniard, "let's go," he said simply as he pulled his satchel onto his shoulder.

Antonio knit his eyebrows in concern but agreed, treading closely behind the Italian as they made their way to the parking lot. The short drive to the Spaniard's apartment was quiet, interrupted only by a few attempts by Antonio to spark conversation, but words petered quickly when the Italian refused to respond. The older boy's unease was slowly ebbing into anger when they reached his house and Lovino barged through the door as soon as it was unlocked, haphazardly depositing his shoes and jacket in the floor of the entranceway.

"Have I done something?" The Spaniard asked, irritation lacing his voice as he followed the Italian into the kitchen.

"Yes, dammit," Lovino roared immediately, slamming his fist onto the counter and sending picture frames clattering to the floor.

"What?" Antonio demanded, unfazed by the boy's display.

"I-I," Lovino started, knot forming in his throat, eyes brimming over with tears, "I fucking hate you," he moaned as he crumpled to the floor, throat descending into painful sobs.

"Hey, hey," Antonio blinked in surprise, dropping to the smaller boy's level and taking his slender wrists gently into his hands, pulling his palms away from his face. "What happened?"

Lovino took a shuddering breath and tried to fix his voice with anger, "I did what you said, you bastard. I followed your advice, lot of good that did."

Antonio combed the Italian's hair from his forehead, "What advice, what are you talking about?"

The Italian sunk in on himself as he groaned through another sob, body desperately trying to eject the deep despair from its entrails, "I made art," he hiccuped, rubbing a knuckle on his soaked cheek, "I made art about _her_."

Antonio understood instantly, and he only breathed a regretful "oh, Lovi," before helping the younger boy up and moving him to the bedroom. Lovino didn't argue, he let the older boy lay him on the bed, let him pull his body close and whisper comforting words in his ear. At some point he rolled over, buried his head into the Spaniard's chest and screamed bitterly. Screamed until his voice grew raw for the boy that had seen his mother dead, for the boy that had rehashed his pain too often, desperately clawing at the wound every time it threatened to scab over in fear of losing the last connection he had with her.

"I don't hate her," he said after a minute, an hour, he didn't know.

"I know." Antonio said, tightening his arms around the boy and softly nuzzling his aching temples.

It was the truth, he didn't hate her, but he hated himself. In his desperation to prove her existence, to make her more than just a name or a character, he had begun to believe more in her death than her life. Had had made that day, that instant of her departure, become more real than the years they had spent together, loving one another. At some point the tears stopped, they had to, but it didn't matter, he would never have enough tears for the grief. Antonio stayed by his side, though, whispering to him, soothing him, pulling his body close and comforting him with the proximity of his warm breath.

"I'm proud of you," the older boy said after a while, combing tender fingers through his companion's sweaty hair.

Lovino didn't blush, he didn't have the energy, but his battered mind still managed to register embarrassment. "There's nothing to be proud of," he returned bitterly, voice heavy from abuse. "I finally came to terms with my mom's death after how many fucking years? I'm pathetic."

Antonio sighed and pressed a kiss to his forehead, his tear-drenched eyelashes, his cheeks. "You're wrong," he said simply, resting his head so he was touching foreheads with the smaller Italian. "You've grown, you're beautiful."

Lovino didn't ask what he meant, the Spaniard had always found him physically appealing and he knew that. "I haven't changed at all, you bastard, I'm the same person I've always been."

Antonio laughed lightly and smiled, enjoying the way he could feel Lovino's soft breaths so close to his mouth. The boy was so perceptive, he recognized the smallest details in people and his surroundings, yet he seemed so blind to his own reflection. It would be okay, though, he thought, as long as he could be there to remind him that, despite his stubborn belief, there was something in him worth loving.


	25. Chapter 25

The brittle morning light shone cautiously through slatted blinds, imposing itself against the delicate eyelids of the sleeping Italian. Lovino groaned and turned his face to the mattress, he wanted to roll over, to face away from the early morning illumination, but something was at his back, too heavy to budge with tired limbs.

"Feli, get out of my bed," he moaned, voice muffled from the mattress. When the body didn't move, he swatted at it haphazardly, hand wobbling at the end of his wrist. "C'mon, I'm cramped," he persisted, lifting a cold foot and nudging it against the others legs.

Finally the body next to him stirred and sat up with a sharp breath, "wh-what?" The disoriented voice sounded.

Lovino managed to pry his eyes open at the deeper than normal tone, he let his neck flop to the side and peered up at the bed's occupant. Soft dark curls, supple tan skin, gentle olive eyes, "Antonio?" He asked no one in particular, clearing his throat when his words escaped raw and strained.

Antonio rubbed the heel of his palm into his eyes, messing his eyebrows and sending his hair splayed carelessly in all directions, before turning to Lovino and giving a small, concerned smile. "How are you feeling?" He asked, scooting away when he realized how closely he had positioned himself next to the Italian.

Lovino took the opportunity to turn his body over, pulling his arms around his pillow as the events of the day before settled into his weary brain. How did he feel, he wondered. Numb, confused, guilty, angry, he felt so many things, too many to address. What he didn't feel was better. Though, he hadn't expected to. It would take time for these all-consuming emotions to fade, if he ever allowed them to, and even then, the smallest things: the smell of coffee, the sound of a shrill scream, a reproduction of that same print, could potentially send him back to that day, questioning all the things he should have done, could have done, if he had only known. The thought made him exhausted, he had at such a young age set a precedence for weakness, allowing himself to wallow in pain. His mother had possessed the strength to die, yet he hadn't been able to muster the courage to live.

"Tired," he said finally, the most truthful answer he could formulate.

Antonio settled back onto the mattress and turned towards the Italian, softly combing the sleep-matted hair from his forehead. "I bet," he agreed, "do you have to work much today?"

Lovino scooted closer to Antonio, enjoying the body heat the close proximity afforded, and sighed, "yeah, I still have two pieces to get done by Thursday. Not to mention frames."

"You got a print done in one night, do you really need four days to finish?" Antonio pressed, greedy for more time with the younger boy.

Lovino kicked the Spaniard's legs softly and a smirk quirked in the corner of his mouth, "I don't need your help procrastinating, bastard. And besides," he continued, faint heat in his cheeks, "I just want to get this done with."

He had been intentionally vague, but Antonio wrapped him in a warm embrace nonetheless, seeming to realize the unspoken truth behind his words. He was beginning to vaguely understand the real reason he had so vehemently insisted upon not making work about his mother. Some uncharted area of his brain had told him: "why bother, why suffer?" It was painful, but somehow easier, to believe that everyone hated him, that he was unlovable, because then there was no reason to scream her name, to insist upon every syllable for help.

"Can I make you breakfast at least, before you go?" Antonio spoke into his hair, tousling his tendrils with the strength of his words.

"Yeah, fine," Lovino consented. He tried to sound like it was a favor to the older boy, but in fact he was so grateful to prolong his exposure to the Spaniard, to put off facing reality a little longer. Truly, he would always be a coward.

Despite the agreement, neither boy made a move to get up, too intoxicated by weariness, by the hypnotic presence of each others scent, to separate. Finally, regretfully, Lovino pulled away, shivering from the lack of warmth at his side. He looked down at his rumpled shirt and slacks, he had fallen asleep in his clothes, too deadened with emotion to imagine exerting the effort to change.

"You want to shower while I cook?" Antonio asked, arms quaking as he stretched with a yawn before lifting himself from the bed.

Lovino considered it, his eyes were gummy from crying and a warm shower sounded tempting, but he wasn't ready to be alone yet, afraid of where his brain might take him. "Nah, I'll get grimy from printing anyway," he shrugged.

Antonio nodded and padded towards the kitchen, lifting his chin and motioning Lovino to follow. "What do you want to eat?" He asked, clicking the stove top to high before pulling his apron out of a drawer and tying it around his waist.

Lovino shrugged and slunk into a bar stool, leaning an elbow against the counter and letting his head fall into his hand. "Something edible," he muttered, sleepily watching the Spaniard rifle through his cabinets.

"Pancakes it is," Antonio nodded, flicking on his kitchen radio and humming as he pulled a carton of eggs from the fridge. Lovino tried to hide a smile as he watched the older boy walk around the small kitchen, swaying his hips to the beat as he collected ingredients. He deposited bags of flour and sugar on the counter top and looked up at the Italian, "want to be my sous chef?"

Lovino considered claiming not to know what he meant, just to be obstinate, but instead he relented, pushing himself from his stool and padding to the other side of the bar. "You'd probably just burn them anyway."

Antonio dropped a large bowl in front of the boy and pinched his side playfully, "you know you love my cooking," he winked.

"Cocky bastard," Lovino growled after him, picking up an egg and cracking it on the side of the bowl, expertly pulling the two sides apart in his palm.

Antonio cocked an eyebrow in faint surprise, "do you cook often?" He asked, slipping a whisk into the Italian's other hand.

Lovino shrugged and cracked another egg, "I used to," he mumbled, embarrassed of the attention.

Antonio looked up from chopping a peach and popped a piece into his mouth, "we'll have to do this more often, then," he smiled, walking a slice over to the Italian.

Lovino dropped the shells into the sink and reached his palm out for the fruit, only to have the Spaniard shake his head, "your hand's dirty, open up.'

"Perverted bastard," the younger boy scowled, but he relented, opening his mouth and letting Antonio deposit the tangy peach on his tongue. He shivered from the sweetness and vaguely wondered how the Spaniard had managed to procure what must be the last ripe peach of the season. "It's good," he said, syrupy juice still heavy on his tongue, rich with the taste of late summer.

Antonio nodded and slipped a griddle onto the stove, "there's a great fruit stand close by, they let me pick my own produce." He replied, dripping water onto the pan to test the heat, "I'll bring you there next summer, if you'd like."

"Sure," Lovino agreed before he could reconsider. He stared fixated on his work of folding ingredients, trying not to think about the implication in the statement, the suggestion that, a year from now, they would still be spending time together.

"How's that coming?" Antonio asked, peering over the Italian's shoulder, chest pressed against his back. The younger boy opened his mouth to answer but the shrill sound of his ringtone interrupted him. He pushed the Spaniard away, running to his knapsack and slipping in his socks as he dug through the pockets for his phone. He cursed when the last tone petered off before he recovered it, and felt a pang of guilt when he realized the missed call had been from Feliciano.

"Shit," he growled when Antonio padded into the hall to check on him, "it's Feliciano, I need to go," he explained, regret barely perceptible in his voice.

Antonio understood immediately, "okay, just let me turn off the stove and I'll drive you over," he nodded, disappearing momentarily while Lovino pulled on his shoes. "You gonna call him back?" The Spaniard asked as he made his way back, grabbing his keys from the counter and pocketing them while he slipped on his loafers.

"No, it's okay, I'd rather talk to him in person," Lovino returned as he followed Antonio out the door to his car. He had a feeling Feliciano would be wondering where he was, and he needed time to decide how to answer the question. He could always tell him he had been in the studio that night, it wouldn't be a total lie, he just wouldn't mention the part about Antonio, or the crying.

The car ride seemed to end too quickly, the comfortable silence cast back under the spotlight of anxiety when Lovino realized he had to part ways with Antonio, to wish him goodbye. It seemed silly to bother with niceties now that the Spaniard had seen him so emotionally exposed, and he scoured his memory banks, desperately searching for what a proper friend would do. It was a useless hunt though, Lovino had never had friends, had never before met anyone that cared enough to see past his rough exterior.

"Am I going to get to see you this week?" Antonio asked, finally breaking the silence.

Lovino shrugged and turned his face to the window, cheeks inflamed, "it's not like I'd turn you away if you wanted to bring food or something," he mumbled. Antonio didn't reply but the Italian knew he understood, the stupid grin plastered on his face informed him of that fact.

Lovino clawed for the door handle, wrenching it open with a garbled, "well, bye."

Antonio grabbed his elbow, pulling him gently back into his seat. "Thanks for letting me in, Lovi," he said to the boy's back.

"Y-yeah, whatever," the Italian replied, face on fire. "Th-thanks for being there or whatever," he stammered back, heart hammering in his chest.

Antonio's smile widened and he pulled the Italian further in, planting a soft kiss on his cheek before letting him go, "any time, I'm always here." He whispered into the boy's ear, soft breath igniting a blossom of goosebumps on the boy's neck.

Lovino opened his mouth to reply but no words came out, so instead he nodded, pulling himself out of the car on wobbling knees and closing the door behind him, desperately trying to catch his breath as he waved lightly at the retreating vehicle. He stood there for a while, eyes glazed over as he waited for the feeling to return to his legs, but a sudden buzzing in his pants pocket anchored him back to reality, reminding him of the purpose of his arrival and sending him in a determined walk towards his residence hall.

When Lovino finally made it to his dorm building, scanned his ID and bounded up the stairs, he expected to find Feliciano sitting at his desk working or maybe even taking a mid-morning siesta. But the sound of sniffing reached his ears as soon as he turned the latch, his heart flipped uneasily in his chest as he pushed the door forward and saw his brother illuminated so forebodingly against the window, tears running down his cheeks. "Feli, what happened?" He demanded immediately, a million different scenarios running through his head, most containing the taller blonde.

"We were robbed again," the boy whined, voice sounding so much younger than the years he possessed.

"What?" Lovino barked, throwing his head around as he searched the room, "how? What did they take?"

"My pictures," Feliciano answered pitifully, eyes turning to the empty spaces on his desk.

Oh. "Oh," Lovino breathed, shaking his head as walked towards the younger Italian, kneeling down to brush a tear from his cheek, "I took those."

Feliciano didn't look relieved, instead, he looked terrified, eyes widening and shoulders tensing, "you didn't." He breathed, disbelief in his features. "You wouldn't."

"What? No," Lovino shook his head, fighting off the urge to laugh at his brother's face, "no, they're fine, they're in the studio, I just needed to make copies."

"Copies for what?" Feliciano's voice lightened considerably, eyes shining behind drenched eyelashes.

"For art, obviously," The older boy scoffed, tucking his brother's hair behind his ear before rolling his eyes to the ceiling.

"Art about what?"

Lovino felt his body weaken slightly as he tried to conceptualize the words, tried to force them from his mouth. "Mom," he managed finally, Feliciano didn't look surprised, he had just wanted to watch his brother say it.

"But what about her?"

Lovino shrugged, he wasn't ready to have this conversation, he never would be. "I don't know, just stories." He evaded the question with the ease, "anyway, I'll bring them back as soon as I'm done, okay?"

Feliciano nodded and rubbed his nose, sniffling away the last of his tears. The older brother stood and turned to exit the dorm, but a gentle tug on his sleeve stopped him. "Ve~ Lovi, do you think I could go with you?"

Lovino shuddered at the sound of the familiar tic, it was a good sign, it meant he had been forgiven, that Feliciano was returning to his cheerful self. He could recall the first time he heard that nonsensical chime from his brother's mouth. When Feliciano was only just learning how to speak, he struggled with his brother's name: the delicate "l" and swooping "o" were too much for his clumsy tongue. And so, in a desperate plea to communicate, to capture his brother's attention, Feli had begun to call him "ve." It had amazed Lovino when he realized that the moniker belonged to him, that it was his sound. He loved the child immediately, this being that couldn't walk nor properly speak, but wanted so badly to convey to his older brother that he acknowledged his existence, that he cared. Over time the sound lost it's meaning, Feliciano learned control of his diction and conquered the tricky sounds behind even the most difficult words, but the tic remained, encouraged by his mother who found it endearing. Lovino thought it was irresponsible to encourage what was clearly a verbal shortcoming, but Feliciano's agreeable personality had thankfully alleviated him from ever being the brunt of ridicule, and so the sound remained, peppered haphazardly throughout his speech, no longer noticed by its possessor.

"Sure, okay," Lovino relented hesitantly. He knew what he was agreeing to, knew that Feliciano would stay while he worked. The boy had always been desperate to know more about their mother, even if he never explicitly stated it. He didn't know how much his brother remembered of that time, he hadn't thought to ask, always assuming it would be better not to remember. He'd hated his own recollections, had purposefully avoided all relics of that time, desperate to forget. It seemed so silly to him, that he was still so moved by his past. How many tragedies had the world suffered while he sat by the edge of his memories, desperately scouring the stagnant waters for something new, something not yet examined? Yet, he was fortunate to have those memories, to have a well to draw from. Feliciano had to rely on his unyielding, brooding older brother for stories, and so the pictures were his lifeline, the one thing he could truly possess.

"You know Feli," he recalled as they walked slowly together, shoulders brushing. "I was so mad when you were born."

"But why?" The younger Italian whined, a hint of a laugh in his voice as he wrapped his arms around his brother's elbow.

"There it was, my birthday. Mom was in the hospital and I was sitting with Nonno in the waiting room, pouting because I hadn't had a chance to open my presents." He recounted, wrenching the door open for the pair as they made their way into the art building.

"It was such a cold day, too, uncharacteristically cold for March. We were having a blizzard and Dad couldn't make it to the hospital," Lovino paused, wondering if it was true, if it really was the blizzard that had stopped him, but he shook it off, if his memory was faulty to protect him, he would accept it. "They had bundled you up so much against the cold, you had this tiny knit cap on that was still way too big for you, and with your pale skin and dark eyes, I told Mom you looked like a baby snowman."

Feliciano laughed at that, overjoyed at being told the story, hanging on his every word. "Mom was so in love with you, I could see it immediately," Lovino continued, falling into a chair once they entered the print room. "She was rubbing her nose against yours, and every time she pulled away you let out these little breaths, like sighs of contentment. Mom, was thrilled, she was over the moon."

The younger Italian smiled lightly as he thought of it, "she loved you, too, Lovi," he breathed finally, breaking himself from his trance. The older boy sighed and shrugged lightly, he didn't need to be reminded. He could see that day so clearly: he was standing stiff in the doorway, silently watching his mother whom he had once known so well, but had somehow inexplicably changed in the few short hours he had been separated from her in the waiting room. She belonged to someone else now, and it made him feel odd and out of place, but she had always been perceptive to him and his tendency towards silent suffering. She recognized his trepidation immediately, leaving Feliciano cradled in his Nonno's arms while she enfolded herself around her oldest son and allowed him to feel her face in silent rediscovery. Yes, this was his mother.

"I miss her," Feliciano admitted, tapping idly on the table.

Lovino wondered if it disgusted his brother to admit that, too. If he also felt a sick knot of embarrassment in his stomach at conveying an emotion so true. If he did, the older Italian imagined, it would be for completely different reasons. He remembered the well meaning strangers, the people that had called his parents friends, cautiously approaching him and his brother at the funeral: tender, sad smiles by some, regretful whispers, hesitant pats to the shoulder by others. "You'll see boys, you'll get used to this. You can get used to anything." "What a shame to see such gloomy faces, never forget to smile." At the time, Lovino had found it so cruel, it had made him contemptuous of people and their fickle nature, but Feliciano had been so young, too young. He still thought adults held all the answers, and so he did what they said. He smiled, he busied himself with others, buried his perceptiveness behind his naturally kind and earnest spirit. Where Lovino had tried to protect himself from pain by keeping love out of his life, he felt Feliciano had taken the opposite approach, coveting love and friendship, using it to fill a gap he may not even realize he possessed.

"Yeah, I know," Lovino agreed, eyes drawn to the floor, neck burning at the sound of his brother sniffing back tears. All of these things made sense to him, and yet they didn't. He could locate the problem but it still slipped from his grasp, some part of it still so inaccessible, impossible to surmount.

"Please don't leave me, Lovi," Feliciano whined quietly, earnestly, "I'm glad you have big brother Antonio, but-"

"I don't 'have' him, Antonio means nothing to me," Lovino cut in immediately, unable to bite his tongue at the topic of the Spaniard. "And how can you say that to me? You're the one always trying to leave."

Feliciano knotted his eyebrows and clasped both hands around his brother's closest palm. "I'd never-"

"But you have though," Lovino fought back, pulling his hand away and cringing when his voice cracked and he felt hot tears stinging the corner of his eyes. "You're always going off with other people, forgetting about me, your family." He wondered if Feliciano would pick up the implication behind the words, the suggestion that, by abandoning his older brother, he was turning his back on his mother as well.

"You love big brother Antonio, why won't you just admit that?" Feliciano asked, tone light and tender, but exhibiting an inner awareness that he so rarely allowed to show.

"Who says I love him?" Lovino fought obstinately, it was a blatant lie but his brother baited him with his easy confidence.

"Ve~ I know you better than anybody," the younger boy said simply. It was true, of course, neither boy would ever contest their intimate understanding of the others character.

"Well you're wrong about this," Lovino told him sternly, tears drying instantly as he stood from the table and busied himself with loading a new stone onto the lithograph press.

Feliciano watched quietly, shoulder held tense in a question as he mentally worked something out. "Momma wouldn't want this," he decided after a while, earning a sarcastic scoff from his brother.

"How would you know?" Lovino replied bitterly, instantly regretting the unimaginably cruel words as soon as they stumbled from his lips.

To his surprise Feliciano didn't descend into sobs, he was hardened to his brother's fits of rage, knew he didn't always mean what he said. "Maybe I don't remember her as well as you do, but at least I don't hide behind her." The boy replied accusingly.

"No, you just run around with a bunch of stupid friends, flirting with every cute guy you meet: 've~ save me from my mean brother, ~ve,'" Lovino imitated, throwing his hands in the air and swaying his hips around in a ridiculous display. "At least I actually care, at least I think about her."

"I live my life," Feliciano shrugged, unforgiving.

"You don't care about her," Lovino roared back, silence descending heavily as soon as the words petered off, the air almost trembling from the intensity of his tone.

Feliciano sighed and frowned slightly, an odd expression on his normally happy face. "So you think she'd want you to be miserable, Lovi? Do you really think that's why she did it?"

Lovino didn't respond, he couldn't. Obviously he knew she hadn't allowed for them to live solely so they could spend their time basking in her memory, tortured by her absence. Even so, he was weak and he was afraid, afraid of the pain that happiness allowed, afraid of forgetting her.

"I don't remember her well," Feliciano continued when his brother didn't reply, his voice regretful. "but I know that she loved me, even if I don't have specific memories to back that up, I just know it." The boy said fervently, as if he were forcing himself to believe it.

Lovino felt a distant pain of guilt for not being more forthcoming to his brother, for being naive enough to think he could shoulder all the pain for them. "She did," he confirmed easily, anger forgotten at seeing the younger Italian look so vulnerable.

"I know," Feliciano nodded, blinking heavily when a stray tear traced his cheek. "And I think, I've decided that the best way to remember her is to let others love me like she did."

There was a question in his voice, he seemed almost self-conscious about the declaration, but Lovino was stunned by his perceptiveness. He felt that the air had been knocked out of him as he stumbled to where his brother sat and wrapped his arms around him tightly, burying his head into his shoulder. "I love you, Feli," he reminded desperately, "I love you and so did she."

Feliciano sniffed heavily and pulled his brother closer, "I know, I love you, too." In that moment Lovino felt so grateful to his mother, she had given him life and she had given him a best friend, and when he finally pulled away from the embrace, when he allowed his body to support itself once again, it was too soon.

"Can I stay in here while you work?" Feliciano asked, wiping his eyes with his sleeve.

"Please," Lovino nodded, laughing softly at the desperation in his voice, "please."


	26. Chapter 26

"Okay, so every time I run the roller over it, wipe the image down," Lovino explained , squeezing water from the sponge and swiping it across his stone in demonstration.

"Ve~but won't that blur your image?" Feliciano watched fretfully.

"No, because we etched it," Lovino explained easily, "the image repels water and the negative image absorbs it, that's why it needs to stay wet."

The younger Italian nodded firmly, still not quite understanding, but grasping the principle of keeping the stone saturated. "What's this called again?"

"Lithography," Lovino replied over the swish of his charging roller.

"It's really cool," Feliciano said earnestly while he watched his brother run the roller over the stone.

The older Italian barely managed to suppress a smile as he watched his brother concentrate on rinsing the excess ink from the limestone matrix. "Yeah, it's okay."

It had been nice having the younger boy in the studio with him, they had talked about their mother initially, Feliciano eagerly savoring the barest minutia his older brother could wrack from his fading memory. It surprised Lovino to find that this artificial rendezvous, far from the painful experience he fully expected, made his heart swell with appreciation of the tiny moments, the little gestures and words he had continued to grasp despite his best efforts towards annihilation. He no longer felt so perpetually weary, as if life were a burden he was saddled with unwittingly. He was carried by the stories he wanted to tell his brother, he had so much work to do, but he couldn't drag himself from his seat till he conveyed them.

"Okay don't wipe it this time, I'm gonna run it through," Lovino said as he finished charging his image and rested the roller back in its holster. He carefully lined up the registration marks on the paper and waited for Feliciano to pull the tympan sheet over it like he had previously instructed, before unlocking the press and moving it forward.

"You have to be careful not to run off the end of the stone or you'll ruin the tympan," Lovino explained as he worked, halting the movement of the press bed and releasing the pressure to roll it back out.

"What's the tympan do, again?" Feliciano pressed, watching his brother intently.

Lovino picked the sheet up and laid it on a table before rubbing his fingers on his apron and carefully lifting his fresh print. "It has grease on it, right? It just makes it so the squeegee doesn't get stuck," he explained absently as he laid his work on the table to inspect. "what do you think?" He asked when Feliciano followed him over, tilting his head slightly as he took in the image.

The lithographs had become increasingly abstract , the pictures becoming more and more unreadable as Lovino delved into the covert emotions traced into the wrinkles of each candid face. The pieces had come to mimic his state of mind, representing the clear physical access point of the contingent event that coursed unceasingly through his thoughts but petering off into the indecipherable and complicated yet too real feelings they dredged up. "I really like it," Feliciano replied after a while, voice unusually subdued.

Lovino nodded in appreciation and pinched his bottom lip as he leaned in for closer inspection. "It'll do anyway," he conceded, "I'm losing a little detail here, but I can fix that with a stronger etch." He traced a small area with his pinky, scrunching his eyes as he meticulously searched the rest of the image for inconsistencies.

"I'm serious," Feliciano chirped, louder this time. "It's a really nice piece, Lovi."

Lovino straightened back up and stared, eyebrow perked at his brother. "Uh, o-okay, thanks," he accepted hesitantly, flustered from the compliment.

"I didn't know how much work this was," the younger Italian admitted as he padded back over to the press with his brother, waiting for further instruction.

Lovino hummed in acknowledgement and studied his stone before picking up a glass jar with a higher etch, "yeah, it can be tough sometimes."

"You should let me help you more often," the younger Italian suggested, leaning his palms onto the edge of the press and peering over the stone's drying surface.

Lovino scoffed and applied his etch with a soft paintbrush, "No way, you talk too much, you're distracting."

Feliciano only laughed in reply, he knew his brother enjoyed his company, despite his unwillingness to admit it. Somehow the almost herculean effort involved in banal conversation was lessened when they were together, fueled by the understanding that they shared a common misfortune, and so it wasn't necessary to hold one another on tenterhooks. They knew they were unable to go any substantial amount of time without evoking their loss, so it didn't need to be said, didn't need to be examined or dwelled upon.

"Ve~do you think you could teach me how to do this?"

Lovino glanced up from folding a cheesecloth, "I guess so," he shrugged, swiping the cloth across the freshly applied etch. "But why waste your time, you paint well enough as it is."

Feliciano scrunched his nose and smiled, "thank you, Lovi," he cooed sweetly, voice the perfect balance of sincerity and humility, a tone cultivated from years of receiving a flood of endless compliments. "I don't exactly want to become a printmaker," he explained, smile widening when his brothers shoulders relaxed, "I just want to know more about what you do. 'Cause you love it, and I-I want to be a part of that."

Lovino threw the cheesecloth aside and sniffed in indignation, "stop claiming I love things like you know me," he returned sternly, words tinted with a vaguely audible humor.

The younger Italian laughed happily, easily detecting his brother's sarcasm and clasping his hand over his mouth as his light giggles filled the muted air. "Lovi and printmaking sitting in a tree K-I-S-S-" the playful chant died in his throat when his pocket buzzed, indicating a new text message.

"Yeah, you can go to hell," Lovino snarled as his brother dug into his pocket and stared fixated at his phone screen before typing a reply.

"Who's that?" the older Italian asked warily, grasping the sponge from the nearby bowl of water and squeezing out the excess water.

"Luddy," Feliciano replied, distracted. "He wants to know what I'm doing today."

"You can tell him your brother said to fuck off," Lovino shot back instantly, swiping the sponge over the stone a bit more vigorously than usual.

The younger boy glanced up at his brother, an imploring, innocent look in his eyes. "Ve~Lovi, this would be a good opportunity for you to get to know each other."

"No way," the older Italian returned bruskly, "no fucking way."

"You may like him, how will you know if-"

"There's no way I'll ever like that bastard," Lovino insisted, dropping the sponge back into the bowl and turning to his roller.

"Fratello," Feliciano scolded, tilting his head and pouting slightly, "can't you at least try?" He implored softly, "for me?"

Lovino ceased in charging his roller and glanced over his shoulder to view his brother's face. The younger boy's soft features were contorted into the perfect depiction of cherubic dejection, his gentle hazel eyes pointed slightly downcast, his eyebrows swooping elegantly in despair. "You've got to be kidding me," he rolled his eyes to the ceiling, wondering how anyone could mistake his brother for naive. "Fine, the idiot can come, but he better not get in my way." Lovino relented, sighing at his inability to dismiss his brother's pouting, no matter how often he had viewed it.

Feliciano cheered happily and hopped around the press bed, wrapping his brother in a tight hug before pulling his cell back out of his pocket and typing a quick message. "He's just down in the sculpture yard, he should be here soon," the boy said when he finished and slid the phone back in his pocket.

"Oh goody," the older boy replied sarcastically as he nudged the bowl towards Feliciano, a silent encouragement to continue his job of wiping off the stone.

The younger Italian grabbed the sponge and swiped off the excess ink, "oh c'mon, you might enjoy the company!"

"Not likely," Lovino growled back, carefully depositing ink onto his image. "What time is it anyway?"

"Almost 6," Feliciano replied, squeezing a little water onto the limestone matrix before washing it off again. "Why?"

Lovino shrugged and charged his roller, "no reason."

The younger Italian quirked an eyebrow in confusion and leaned in to better view his brother's expression, "did you need to be somewhere?"

Lovino dipped his head forward so his hair covered his revealing features, "I said it's nothing." He snapped back, turning to spread ink on the stone.

Feliciano stood silently examining his brother, "Antonio's not coming, is he?" He asked after a while, the saturated red that suddenly filled his brother's cheeks a clear indication that he had guessed correctly.

Lovino dropped the roller back into it's holder, roughly wiping his hands on his apron as he busied himself with retrieving a new sheet of paper. "I-I don't know, who cares about that jerk, anyway?"

"Well, he hasn't been by in a couple days, maybe you should call him," Feliciano prompted, propping himself against a nearby table as he watched his brother fumble with setting up the press.

"No, I can't-I mean, just-n-no," the older boy spat back, clumsy untruths weighing heavily on his tongue.

"But why?" The younger Italian persisted.

"Because-" Lovino started, only to snap his mouth shut when his mind failed to offer a reply. It wasn't that it bothered him to call Antonio, rather he felt he was asking too much of the boy. He had hung his frailty upon Antonio too many times, his neediness embarrassed him, and a small part of him was frightened of what might happen when the words of consolation had run dry. He opened his mouth, desperately trying to carve his lips around his thoughts, to reach out for advice from one of the few people he trusted to supply it, "I just can't." He managed finally, frowning slightly at his apparent inability to voice his concerns.

"Well, I-" Feliciano started, reaching a hand out to comfort his conflicted brother, but drawing it back again when a new presence sounded.

"Am I interrupting something?"

The younger Italian turned his head to the door and smiled warmly, "Ludwig," he cooed happily, rushing over to envelop the man in a hug. "Ve~thank you for coming."

"N-no problem," the taller boy replied, placing both hands on Feliciano's shoulders and gently prying him away from his body.

"No, greet me like I taught you!" the younger boy scolded lightly, reaching imploringly towards the stoic boy on his tiptoes.

Ludwig eyed Feliciano's fuming brother warily, "I don't know if that's such a good-"

"Luddy," the younger boy persisted, pink lips turning slightly downward, "kiss me."

The German sighed, and dipped down to kiss the smaller boy's cheeks, wiping the sweat from the back of his neck afterward from his discomfort over the open display of affection.

"Thank you," Feliciano chirped, grabbing the hem of the taller boy's sleeve and gesturing to his brother. "You remember Lovi."

Ludwig cleared his throat and nodded, "Yes, hello."

"Oh please, don't mind me, you bastard, just slobber all over my brother right in front of me," Lovino spat, carrying his freshly printed image to the nearest table for inspection.

Feliciano waved a dismissive hand to Ludwig and shook his head in apology before walking over to peer over his brother's shoulder. "Ve~how's this one look?"

The older Italian straightened up and shot a disapproving look towards the older German before sighing and walking back to the press, "it looks good, I can go ahead with printing the edition now."

Feliciano cheered and gestured Ludwig towards the apron rack, "that's good to hear, it's time for dinner soon."

Lovino rolled his eyes as his younger brother attempted to find an apron long enough for the German's height, "please, don't feel obligated to wait for me," he bit back, picking up his palette knife and adding ink to his thinning slab.

"No," Feliciano argued, tying Ludwig's apron strings into a perfect bow, "we'll help you so you'll finish quickly."

"Like some sculpture oaf will be able to help me," Lovino bit back, running his roller over his freshly laid ink.

"I actually know quite a bit about lithography, I spent a summer abroad carving limestone in Bavaria," the German explained, voice annoyingly absent of arrogance.

Lovino wanted to give a snide reply but he found himself irritatingly impressed, and instead directed his energy to his work. He turned to remind Feliciano to keep the stone wet, only to find Ludwig had already done it. "Don't do anything I don't tell you," he snapped, just to be obstinate.

The German didn't reply and so Lovino returned the favor, not putting up a fight when the older boy cleaned the ink smudges on the press bed, replaced the water when it had become too dirty, and diligently provided the tympan sheet every time it was needed. Ludwig was annoying in his prudence, every golden hair was in place, every wrinkle ironed, but the way that image crumbled into perspiration and blushing when Feliciano leaned his head on his arm was the worst.

"How many prints are you pulling?" Feliciano asked after a while, stretching his arms above his head before sighing and letting his body slump into Ludwig's.

Lovino shrugged, "one or two more, you don't have to stick around if you're tired."

"No, it's oka-"

"Is that my little Feli I hear?" A new voice chimed from the door, the warm, familiar pitch making the handle of the roller slip from Lovino's right hand, marring the press with a blotch of black ink.

"B-bastard, look what you made me do," the older Italian snapped in mock irritation.

Antonio dropped his satchel on the table and walked over to the press to see the damage. "I'll clean it, Lovi, no worries," he smiled, gently handling the boy's elbow and pulling him close to deposit a soft kiss on his cheek. "How are you doing, my dear?" He whispered softly, words heavy with sincere compassion.

Lovino felt a white heat ignite in his chest and he struggled to compose an answer over the beating of his pulse. "I was doing fine until you made me get the press dirty," he sniffed, fixing his mouth in disapproval.

Antonio bowed his head in understanding and laughed, "I got it, I got it," he acquiesced, moving around the press to grab a handful of paper-towels. "How are you doing, Feli?" He asked when he passed the younger boy.

"I'm doing well," the Italian smiled, "do you remember Ludwig?"

Antonio nodded and held out a hand, "ah, we didn't really get a proper introduction the last time I believe. Nice to meet you."

Ludwig took the offered hand in his own and shook it once firmly, "yes, hello."

"I guess my stone's just going to dry out while you bastards get reintroduced," Lovino huffed while he charged his roller.

"Ve~sorry, fratello," Feliciano jumped to grab the sponge and swipe it over the lightening limestone.

"How soon till you're done?" Antonio asked as he went back to the older Italian's side and started scrubbing out the black stain.

"If this one comes out okay I can stop," Lovino turned his head towards the Spaniard, anger gone from his voice.

"Did big brother Antonio bring food?" Feliciano asked, sniffing the spicy scent that wafted vaguely over the heavy smell of ink.

"Feli," Lovino reprimanded immediately, "don't be rude, Antonio can't feed us all."

The Spaniard shook his head in understanding and laughed, "no, I think I have enough for everyone, as long as no one wants seconds."

Feliciano smiled happily, "Antonio's food is the best," he said to nobody in particular.

Lovino sniffed lightly in agreement, a tiny hint of a smile tracing his lips. "If you're hungry you'll remember to keep this stone damp so I can get this image printed." The older Italian scolded, turning back to his slab when Feliciano jumped to re-soak his sponge.

Ludwig gently pried the sponge from the small Italian and laid a palm on the boy's shoulder, "Why don't you help Antonio with the food and I'll finish up here?"

Lovino glared over his roller as his brother nodded happily and motioned for Antonio to follow him to the table. It was a good idea, he couldn't believe he hadn't thought of it. It irritated him, but he had to admit, Ludwig was surprisingly adept at interacting with his brother. It seemed that the German actually cared about Feliciano, understood his moods and the way his mind functioned, and though Lovino thought he'd rather die than grant the taller boy his acceptance, the furthest recesses of his brain couldn't help but entertain the notion that if anyone had to be in a relationship with his brother, it wouldn't be so bad if it were him.

Antonio and Feliciano chatted easily as Lovino and Ludwig worked quietly and quickly, desperate to part ways and end the awkward silence. The older Italian didn't even complain when Ludwig took it upon himself to remove the freshly printed piece from the press and deposit it on the nearest table for inspection. Lovino covered his slab and roller in aluminum foil before padding over to the image and peering over it, bottom lip pinched between his thumb and forefinger.

"Well? Is it okay?" Feliciano asked expectantly from his work of placing out four stacks of paper towels for makeshift plates.

Lovino nodded slowly as Antonio stepped over to gaze at the print. "Yeah, it'll do, I think we can call it a night." He decided, sighing as the weakness in his muscles from multiple days of hard labor registered immediately in his tired body.

Feliciano gave a thumbs up in agreement, "great, I think there's some plastic forks in the office, I'll be right back!" He called, waving wildly as he jogged out the door and down the hall.

"I'll finish cleaning," Ludwig offered, moving to pick up the dirty bowl and carrying it to the other room to rinse.

Lovino stared with glazed eyes at his print before swallowing and looking up Antonio, "what do you think?" He asked, licking his lips as he waited for a response.

"I think it's wonderful," Antonio replied easily, brushing sweat dampened hair from the older Italian's forehead.

"Thanks," Lovino breathed, leaning his head slightly forward when his cheeks warmed.

"I missed you, you know," Antonio said softly, voice laden with sincerity.

Lovino gave a half-hearted punch to the boy's chest, letting his fingers unfold and trace the soft fabric of the Spaniard's shirt. "Shut up, bastard," he reprimanded, embarrassed by the older boy's honesty.

"Ve~good news," Feliciano interrupted, ignoring the curses spewing from his brother's mouth when he jerked his hand away from Antonio. "I found some forks!"

"Great!" Antonio joined in the boy's excitement, chuckling to himself at the way Lovino leaned his head back and tried to calm his pacing heartbeat. "Let's eat!" He planted a hand on the older Italian's shoulder and led him over to the table, pulling out a chair and waiting for him to sit before taking the seat next to him.

"I'll go get Luddy," Feliciano called, whipping around to the other doorway as Antonio opened containers and started portioning off food.

"What is it?" Lovino asked as he studied the baguette on his paper towel.

"Tortilla Espanola," Antonio explained, "Spanish omelet, it's really good."

"What's in it?" The Italian pressed, poking the mass with the spires of his plastic fork.

"Onion, eggs, and potatoes mostly."

Lovino scrunched his nose in disgust as Ludwig and Feliciano padded into the room. The German hummed as he took his seat next to the small Italian, "I really like potatoes," he said thoughtfully, nodding in thanks when Antonio placed a particularly big portion onto his make-shift plate.

"Ugh," Lovino scowled in disgust, "you would."

Antonio and Feliciano laughed heartily as Ludwig glanced around the table, eyebrows knit in confusion. The Spaniard slid Lovino's food away and placed a new napkin in front of him, "I made fideuá, too, you can have my share."

"Ah, th-thanks," the older Italian replied, relaxing into his seat as everyone settled into comfortable silence, peppered with the occasional prattle initiated by his brother and Antonio. Lovino allowed his eyes to wander across each familiar face as he savored his food, a strange feeling was blossoming within him, his chest felt full, his heart jerking in a painful, yet pleasant way. He knew the all-consuming emotion that was grief, how it buzzed in his fingertips and stretched beyond his slender limbs. This emotion was similar, it was just as intense, yet it didn't feel so burdensome, it made him comfortable in his skin rather than wanting to crawl from the weight of it.

"I wish I had brought dessert," Antonio lamented as he folded his empty paper towel, leaning contently in his chair.

"Ah, but the food was so good," Feliciano complimented for the tenth time that evening.

"Yes, thank you," Ludwig nodded, turning his wrist to read the time on his watch as Lovino rolled his eyes at the old-fashioned accessory. "Ah, I think it's time for me to go," the German said, folding his napkin before standing from his chair to deposit it in the bin.

Feliciano jumped up and followed suit, "I'll walk you back," he offered, latching on to the older boy's arm.

"No way," Lovino protested immediately, "you're not going out alone with that potato bastard."

"Ve~but Lovi-"

"No," Lovino repeated, "besides, it's not safe for you to walk back alone."

"Ludwig can walk me back after we get there," Feliciano supplied, raising a hand in explanation.

The older Italian pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head, "that makes no sense."

"Aw, c'mon, just let them go," Antonio encouraged, covertly sliding a hand onto the younger boy's knee and squeezing it lightly.

"I'll make sure he's returned safely," Ludwig nodded.

Lovino heaved a sigh and rolled his eyes to the ceiling, "I'm sure you will, you pervert." He moaned, "fine, do what you want."

Ludwig's cheeks bloomed in a brilliant red as Feliciano gave his final thanks, planting a kiss on his brother's cheek and hugging Antonio around the shoulders before pulling the flustered German out the door.

"Those two are pretty cute together, huh?" Antonio laughed when the sound of retreating footsteps petered off down the hall.

Lovino folded his arms across his chest and scoffed, "you've got to be kidding me, it's disgusting."

The Spaniard smiled knowingly and busied himself with cleaning the leftover containers. "I don't think you really feel that way," he winked.

The younger boy averted his eyes and bit his lip, "stop acting like you know me so well," he chastised half-heartedly before turning back and helping with the mess.

"How have you been?" Antonio asked after a while, zipping up his satchel and falling back into his chair.

Lovino shrugged and settled down next to him, "fine," he said lamely, squirming uncomfortably in his seat. "It's hot in here, can we go outside?"

"Yeah, of course," Antonio agreed easily, pulling himself from his seat and tossing his knapsack over his back. "How are you doing on your prints?" He asked as they walked slowly down the darkened hall.

"That's the last one, actually," Lovino explained, nodding in thanks when the Spaniard opened the door for him.

"Oh great, so will you have time to rest then, before the show?"

The younger boy shrugged and motioned Antonio to follow him toward the empty quad. "I still have to make frames, and that always takes a while, but it's still a relief," he replied, settling himself into the cold grass and patting the ground next to him.

Antonio sat next to the boy, leaning his weight onto his satchel as he stared at the fragile white stars. "Good, I'm glad."

Lovino breathed an affirmation, watching as his silent declaration weaved through the still air. It was a perfect Autumn night, the crisp weather chilled his heavy lungs, the faint scent of debris intermingling perfectly with heavy evening atmosphere.

"Do you think you'll ever feel comfortable enough to tell me more about your family?" Antonio asked after a few silent minutes, not turning his face from the sky.

The younger boy leaned back on his elbows, joining the Spaniard in his appreciation of the stars as he considered his answer. "Maybe, if you tell me about yours."

Antonio laughed slightly and slid his hand over his face, "ah, I'm so embarrassed," he admitted easily.

Lovino knitted his eyebrows in confusion and rolled onto his side to stare inquisitively at the laughing Spaniard. "What do you mean? Why?"

Antonio let his hand fall to his side and gave an apologetic smirk, "I feel stupid, complaining about my family when you-I mean," he stopped and reconsidered, "I have nothing to complain about. At least they're alive."

Lovino blinked and sat up, "that's the most stupid thing I've ever heard you say." He snapped, a strange and genuine anger bubbling inside his chest, "I don't get some kind of monopoly on pain just because my parents are dead," he spat, "at least I know my Mom loved me." He cringed and snapped his mouth shut when a flicker of hurt passed through the Spaniard's eyes. "Shit," he growled, letting his forehead fall into his palm, "fuck, I'm sorry, that's not what I-"

"No, no, it's okay," Antonio argued, "I understand, it was stupid of me."

Lovino groaned heavily and fell back into the grass, kneading his knuckles into his hairline as he wrestled with his mind. "No, dammit, just fucking listen a minute." He pleaded, sighing as he collected his thoughts. "It's just, yeah my Mom died and it's really sad and I'm kinda, well, actually, I'm really screwed up over it." He winced at the confession before continuing, "but it happened a long time ago, and I-it's not like I've forgotten what real life is like." Lovino struggled under his inability to properly articulate his thoughts, he didn't know to explain how important the everyday hardships of life became when one had faced tragedy. They were proof that life goes on, that it doesn't make concessions for anyone, despite their number of previous grievances. He didn't want to be enthroned on a pedestal, he had done nothing but watch with dead eyes while his mother acquired her last great achievement, it scared him to imagine that the moment of her death had been assigned to him, that somehow he had been targeted for that particular terror.

"I guess what I mean is, I don't think your happiness should be a counterpoint to my pain," he paused, rolling over to face the motionless boy. "Because that's just stupid."

Antonio stayed quiet for a while, his face unreadable, before finally tearing his eyes from the looming sky. "Wow," he said softly, timbre falling smoothly from his tongue and igniting a flame in the younger boy's chest. "I really love you."

Lovino's blood froze in his veins as he stared back at the Spaniard, "Sh-shut up," he moaned, throwing his palms over his face to hide the smile that tugged relentlessly at the corner of his mouth.

"I'm serious," Antonio persisted, face brightening at the realization.

The young Italian rolled away from the Spaniard, "I'm not going to be your boyfriend so you can stop with the compliments," he replied, words muffled in his hands.

"Never," Antonio laughed, "not till you see what I see."

"Well, I hope you're ready to wait forever," Lovino shot back, shivering slightly from the maddening swelling in his chest.

"Then forever it is," the older boy agreed, playfully pinching the Italian's exposed side and laughing at the string of curses that echoed through the quiet night.


	27. Chapter 27

"I guess I should go," Antonio lamented when the bitter night air had finally stiffened his limbs to aching.

Lovino pulled himself from the dewy grass and nodded numbly, "Yeah, I should probably be getting to bed."

The Spaniard stood and wiped the soil from his jeans before offering a hand to the younger boy and lifting him to his feet. Lovino didn't fight when his body was pulled into Antonio's, he pressed his cold nose into the folds of the other's shirt and let the weight of his rich scent settle into his lungs. The pair stood in silence for a while, bodies still as photographs, holding one another in silent reverence and daring the world to continue in its rotation.

The silence was a gift, words of affection wouldn't come to Lovino, he was still too doubtful of them, worried of the implications they might carry. Even when they coursed through his traitorous mind, he faltered. He loved Antonio, his brain had told him so often enough, the thought had become commonplace, like the sound of his blood roaring in his ears, but he didn't know what that meant for his present, for his future, or even in the context of his past. He didn't exactly know why he loved Antonio, and he especially didn't know why the older boy loved him, though he supposed it was obvious enough that he did. Some part of him knew it was pointless to be so demanding of feelings that were by their very nature inexplicable, but he felt himself unable to cease rehashing the same narcissistic questions. Because really, why him? It was painful to dwell upon those things, though, and so the silence was better. If it was cowardice to allow his body to act on its own, to concede to the affection it so desperately desired, then he was a coward. He didn't care, he already knew he was one.

"What's your day looking like tomorrow?" Antonio asked, tracing the shell of Lovino's chilled ear before squeezing the boy's shoulder and motioning him towards the dorm building.

The Italian shrugged, shivering against the bitter wind as he tried to remember how to conjure words from his chapped lips. "I guess I'll just be finishing up on frames, and then helping to hang the show."

"Can I help?" Antonio asked, bending his head slightly to watch the smaller boy from the corner of his eye.

Lovino considered it for a minute, "don't you have work to get done?"

The Spaniard gave a short laugh, "how nice of you to worry about me, Lovi," he teased.

The Italian scoffed immediately and shot his eyes to the floor, concentrating on the new sound of asphalt cracking underfoot. "I'm not worried, bastard." He spat, desperately trying to cover his obvious lie, "I just don't want you crying to me when you get kicked out of school."

"Oooh," Antonio replied sarcastically, completely unconvinced. "I see," he nodded. "Well, you don't have to worry about that, I'm doing fine."

Lovino bit his lip and glanced up at the older boy, he was doubtful, worried even. It was odd to feel this way over anyone other than himself or Feliciano, he was a protective person by nature, but never before did he remember it being extended to anyone other than a blood relative. "Toni," he reprimanded, the words escaping his tongue before he could stop them, "do you promise?"

The Spaniard ceased his pace and blinked, "what did you say?"

Lovino paused and knit his eyebrows in confusion, "wow, thanks for listening-" he started, voice heavy with sarcasm.

"No," Antonio laughed, shaking his head, "you called me 'Toni.'"

The younger boy opened his mouth to argue, "ah, n-no I didn't," he contested lamely, "get your ears checked, bastard."

"You did so!" The Spaniard persisted, lips pressed in a confident grin.

"I-I didn't," Lovino folded his arms into his chest, mouth turning in a faint pout. "And stop trying to change the subject, I'm on to you and your tricks."

Antonio forced back a shiver of contentment at viewing the smaller boy's stupidly adorable bashful attitude. "No tricks here, I'm being serious, you don't have to worry about me."

The Italian lifted his eyes, carefully taking in the others countenance before releasing a breath in resignation. "Well, if you promise, I guess it's okay for you to help."

"I promise," Antonio confirmed immediately, drawing the boy into a tight hug and kissing the top of his head. "Thanks for caring, though," he whispered into his soft hair.

"Yeah, yeah," Lovino muttered, tucking his chin into his collar when his cheeks filled with heat. "Can you meet me in the studio at 4?" The Italian asked when he was released.

"Yup, 4 it is," Antonio agreed easily.

Lovino leaned into his heels and nodded absently, "okay, well, cool. So, I guess I'll see you then." He spat awkwardly, internally berating himself for his tendency towards atrocious departures.

"Yeah, okay."

The Italian chewed his lips, waiting with baited breath for Antonio to expand upon the reply, but when the Spaniard made no move to continue, he lifted his hand in a half wave, muttering a short 'bye' before turning.

"Hey, Lovi," Antonio cut in immediately, "you can stay with me tonight, you know. If you want to."

Lovino froze, heart pounding audibly as he weighed his options. The idea of spending the night with the Spaniard was admittedly tempting, beyond just the need for sexual gratification, there was something about being with the older boy that was soothing, like visiting a home that no longer existed. He found himself wishing things could stay like this forever, he didn't understand why Antonio found it so important to complicate their situation with titles that enforced certain impractical obligations. It was selfish, sure; the older boy didn't ask much of him, but this simple request, to put a title to their relationship, was diametrically opposed to everything Lovino had spent years coercing himself into believing.

"I thought-" Lovino started, swallowing heavily against his intentions, "that-well, you said, not until I agree..." He trailed off, embarrassed of his incoherence, of his adolescent inability to handle the uncomfortable topic.

Antonio tilted his head slightly and shrugged a shoulder, "well?" He prompted, the question so oft repeated that he didn't bother to finish vocalizing it.

The Spaniard sighed before Lovino had a chance to reply, he could see from his body language, his wilted shoulders and downcast eyes, that he would be refused. "I'm sorry," the boy said finally, voice shrouded in regret, "I just can't. I'm sorry." He repeated, sick with guilt. He wanted to tell Antonio that he wasn't ready, but that implied that at some point he would be, and he wasn't yet convinced it was true.

"It's okay," The older boy smiled sadly, "I'm not mad."

Lovino wasn't sure if he should believe him, but he was too afraid to argue, worried of what might be said, that Antonio might finally realize he wasn't worth the wait. "See you at 4?" He asked, mentally cringing at his own desperate attempt for reassurance that this newest rejection wouldn't be the last, that the Spaniard was still willing to put up with him.

"Hey, I mean it," Antonio reiterated, cupping one of the boy's soft cheeks in his palm. "I know it's been a tough week, okay? I'm not trying to make you do anything you don't want."

But it wasn't that he didn't want it, Lovino thought, head churning. Rather, he was scared, scared of what it might mean to become accustomed to comfort, scared of what might happen should that comfort then be seized. Because no matter how many times Antonio reassured him that he wouldn't leave, even he could make no promises against death, and the weight of that truth laid heavy against the younger boy's shoulder blades.

"Whatever, stop being so fucking dramatic," Lovino recovered, half-heartedly slapping away the others tender touch.

Antonio laughed at the response, holding his palms open before his chest in surrender. "Okay, okay," he teased, "I'll see you at 4 tomorrow." He leaned in for a chaste peck before winking and waving goodbye.

"Yeah, see ya," Lovino mumbled after his retreating back. He stood still in the orange glow of the dormitory lobby, frozen in place, marveling over the impossibility of feeling so suddenly lonely, despite the fact that he could still see the Spaniard silhouetted against the purple evening sky. Finally, he shrugged himself from his stupor and plodded gracelessly towards the door as the weight of the world descended back into his body.

Lovino's eyelids drooped in lethargy as he trudged up the stairs, once he entered the hall he surrendered his fight, giving his burning eyes a brief respite as he allowed his muscle memory to guide him to his room. He fumbled with the lock momentarily before finally gaining access, peaking through heavy lids when the air temperature shifted, and tumbling towards his bed, ready to collapse into the uncomfortable mattress.

"Ve~you're not going to sleep in your clothes, are you?" A soft voice sounded, dragging the older Italian harshly back from the perimeters of slumber.

Lovino jerked his head, sniffing sharply in reply, "N-no, of course not," he replied groggily, shuffling over to his dresser to change. "I didn't expect you to come back tonight," he admitted as he unbuttoned his top.

Feliciano shrugged and cuddled further into his shroud of blankets, "I told Luddy it didn't matter, but he insisted on bringing me back. Ve~isn't he such a gentleman?"

The older Italian snorted and tossed his crumpled shirt and slacks into his hamper before stumbling back to his bed, deciding he lacked the energy to brush his teeth. "He's a bastard," he snarled back to Feliciano, clicking off his bedside lamp before his brother had a chance to argue.

"Aw, I know you don't mean that," the younger boy argued, anger absent from his voice. "He said he has time to help us hang your pieces tomorrow."

"Oh goody," Lovino replied sarcastically, but he was pleased, and Feliciano knew it. "Antonio's helping, too."

"Great, it should take no time then," Feliciano chirped back before falling into silence, only the sound of his ruffling covers interrupting the muted air. Lovino stared into the unyielding void of darkness, eyelids finally drooping as he was lulled into sleep, only to be yanked cruelly back when a hand furled his shoulder and shook him lightly. "Scoot over," Feliciano whispered, already hoisting a knee into the mattress, not bothering to wait for permission.

Lovino mumbled incoherently and scooted his body towards the cold plaster wall, he was too tired to fight, and anyway, the warmth his brother's presence provided was comforting, slowly defrosting the overbearing iciness of loneliness that insisted on freezing in his chest. "You're getting too old for this," the older boy chastised, out of obligation more than genuine irritation.

"Just this one last time," Feliciano appealed, curling himself into his brother's chest. It wouldn't be the last time, they both knew it, but neither was bothered by the lie. "Hey, Lovi?" The younger boy asked after a while, uncertain if his brother was still awake.

Lovino only hummed in reply, limbs turning to jelly the more pressing his need for sleep became. "Tell me a story," Feliciano pleaded. He didn't specify what kind of story, he didn't need to, he knew his brother would know instantly to what he referred.

Lovino didn't reply for a long time, and finally Feliciano clamped his eyes shut, pulling his fists into his chest as he willed himself to sleep. "Do you remember Mom's cooking?" The older boy asked suddenly, voice groggy but thick with nostalgia.

"Not really," Feliciano replied, mentally scouring the shallow surface of his memories but coming up empty.

"Well, consider yourself lucky," a faint laughter tinged the words, making the younger boy's lips quirk upwards in joy. "She was horrible at it, Dad used to always say: 'boys, when you meet the girl you want to marry, make sure she can cook before you put a ring on that finger.'" Feliciano giggled at the thought, burying his widening smile into his knuckles. "And then Mom would slap him," Lovino continued, unable to keep a few unbidden chuckles from escaping his own chest. "She was always a little violent, but in a funny way."

"Is that where you get it from?" Feliciano teased, smiling knowingly at the curses of dispute that escaped his brother's mouth.

"Anyway," Lovino continued, pinching his brother's side in punishment for his comment, "one day we were supposed to go camping, but we ended up having to cancel because it was raining, or Dad had to go to work, or something," the Italian trailed off, trying to properly excavate the buried memory, to convey it as correctly as possible. "I was upset about it and maybe being a little bratty," Lovino paused to give his brother time to snicker into his pillow, "yeah, shocking I know," the boy finished dryly. "And you wouldn't stop crying, I guess we all just had a bit of cabin fever or something. So for some reason Mom got it in her head that the three of us should make cannoli."

"Cannoli?" Feliciano asked, vaguely wondering if his affection for the dessert had stemmed from his mother.

Lovino hummed in affirmation, "yeah, she loved the stuff, but Nonno always made it for her. As far as I know she didn't have a recipe, I'm sure she thought she could figure it out herself though, she was optimistic like that." He smiled at the memory, his mother floating around the kitchen, asking a young Lovino, 'flour, right?' and waiting for him to squeal a happy 'yes' in reply before moving onto the next guessed ingredient. "And to tell you the truth, I don't even know how the damn stuff tasted, because she didn't even make it that far."

"What?" Feliciano prompted, tone laden with amusement.

"Yeah, she put the damn flour in the blender," Lovino shook his head in disbelief, "it was like winter in our kitchen, everything was coated white."

"No way," the younger boy giggled, struggling to catch his breath against the rumbling of laughter in his chest.

Lovino nodded happily, "Dad came home like right after it happened, you'd think he'd be mad right?" The older boy paused for effect, waiting for his brother to quirk his eyebrows in a silent plea to continue. "Well, he stood in the doorway a while, and then out of nowhere he scooped up a handful of flour and tossed it at Mom. It was a full out battle then, flour got everywhere, I can't imagine how long it took them to clean up, but it was one of the best fucking times I remember." Lovino stared wistfully at the ceiling, remembering the aching in his lungs from that intense laughter. He didn't recall what came of the kitchen, but he did know at one point they moved outside, squealing with renewed laughter as the soft summer rain cleansed them. They didn't return to the house until the clouds had cleared and the sky was ignited in a kaleidoscope of red and dotted yellow, and even then they stomped through each golden puddle on the way to the door, desperately grasping every last minute of daylight, regretful that the feeling of belonging should ever end.

"I like that story," Feliciano whispered after a while, "thanks for telling me."

Lovino sighed and smiled lightly, combing his fingers through his brother's light auburn hair. "I think we're going to be okay, Feli," he admitted, unsure of what he meant, but unable to suppress the sentiment. He remembered the heaviness in his chest that day, the overwhelming weight of being so loved, of being home. That same feeling, or at least a mutated version of it, had started to infect his senses at dinner, and he understood it now, the meaning behind it. The world hadn't always given him its best, but despite his best efforts to isolate himself from it, happiness had still managed to find its way in. "I love you," Lovino whispered, eyes pointed upwards and voice barely audible, before pulling his brother close and succumbing to sleep.

Lovino whisked the sweat from his brow with his sleeve and leaned his last framed print against the wall. He felt tired but accomplished as he eyed his work critically, finally deciding his frames were satisfactory and padding to the neighboring room to check the time. '3:40,' he registered, rolling his tense shoulders on his way to the sink. He turned on the faucet and palmed the cold water, splashing it on his face a few times before dipping his arms beneath the stream to clear the sweat-soaked sawdust. The day had been spent in a state of numb production, Lovino doubted if any worthwhile thought had managed to fumble its way through his abused mind. It was a needed respite, this emotional limbo. He was used to living in silent suffering, constantly rehashing the numerous injustices he had been subjected to in his comparatively short life, but he hadn't realized the memories that feelings of love, of companionship, could unearth. This new understanding left him conflicted, because certainly, he was glad to remember those times of pure and unadulterated joy, just knowing that he was indeed capable of such emotions was a relief; but the ache at knowing those times had passed, taking with it the individuals that had provoked such happiness, was devastating, and he had yet to decide if the benefits of rekindling such a close relationship outweighed the cost if it should end.

"Hey, Lovi," a bright voice sounded. Lovino jumped, the approaching footsteps muted by the basin water, and quickly turned off the faucet in an attempt to cover his surprise.

"You're early," He returned, pulling a few paper towels from the nearby table and wiping his dripping face.

Antonio glanced up at the clock and shrugged, "only by a few minutes, traffic wasn't bad."

Lovino hummed in reply and combed his hair from his forehead. "How was class?" He prompted, awkwardly trying to initiate small talk.

"It was fine," Antonio shrugged, "did you get your frames done?"

"Yeah," Lovino nodded, "want to see?" He walked to the other room without waiting for a reply, stepping back from the frames and tilting his head to size them up from the small distance.

"They look good," Antonio said earnestly, "it's nice to see them framed."

Lovino shrugged and slumped into the nearest seat, "yeah, they'll do anyway. I'm just relieved that it's done."

"Give yourself more credit," the Spaniard scolded playfully, "you're so talented, but no one would guess that from listening to you."

The younger boy bit his lip and dipped his chin, "I-I'm not bastard, every art student knows how to make a frame."

"I'm sure there are better chefs than me but that doesn't make me bad," Antonio insisted, "don't compare yourself to others, that's not how you judge talent."

Lovino didn't reply, it bothered him that the Spaniard made so much sense. He preferred believing he lacked something as vague and undefinable as talent, because then he didn't have to blame himself if he failed, he could believe it was something in his make-up, that he possessed a genetic predisposition to fall short.

"Should we start bringing these over?" Antonio asked, leaning his elbow on the table and dropping his head into his palm to study the Italian's face.

Lovino flushed under the attention and shrugged, "yeah, I was going to wait for Feli and that potato bastard, but I guess I can just text them to meet us."

"Oh, they're coming, too?" Antonio asked, rising from his seat and moving towards the prints.

"Yeah, it'll be faster that way, 'cause I have to help my professor with his stuff."

Antonio leaned a frame forward and slipped the wire over his fingers. "Oh yeah, I forgot about him, you don't talk about him much, is he nice?"

Lovino opened his mouth to reply, then shut it again as he considered his feelings. "Uh, no, not really," he laughed, "but I have to kiss his ass, he did let me in the show after all."

The Spaniard smiled and nodded knowingly, "yeah, that sucks, huh? We've all been there. I don't think any less of you." He winked.

The younger boy rolled his eyes to the ceiling and hoisted up two prints, padding into the hall as he continued the friendly banter. "Like I care what you think."

"You know you do," Antonio teased back, kneeing the door open and holding it for the Italian to pass through.

"Keep dreaming," he snarked back, mumbling a muted thanks when the Spaniard unlocked his car and carefully removed the framed pieces from his hands, positioning them in the trunk.

The gallery was surprisingly easy to find, between Sadiq's scribbled instructions and Lovino's fairly good sense of direction, they only managed to take one or two wrong turns before finding it. "I'd worry about Feli getting here but I bet Ludwig has this whole town mapped out," the Italian joked bitterly, lip quirking with disgust at the mention of the German.

Antonio laughed in reply and lifted himself out of his seat, "so he's a little type A, he loves your brother, that's what's important, right?"

Lovino knit his eyebrows and frowned, "stop being optimistic."

"Or what?" the older boy dared, lifting two prints from his trunk and handing one to Lovino.

"Or I'll kick you in the balls," Lovino replied immediately, smirking when the Spaniard paled at the thought.

"Not cute, not cute at all," Antonio lamented. "I'll just have to use your art to shield me."

"Bastard!" Lovino cried back with a laugh, light-hearted attitude dissipating the nearer he came to the gallery doors. When Antonio pushed the door open for him he glanced up as he passed through, concentrating on the older boy's soft compassionate face, his gentle mouth and kind eyes, and wondered how tortured with anxiety he would have been if he were forced to face this event alone.

"Vargas, that you?" His professor sounded as soon as his foot met the gallery floor.

"Yeah," Lovino replied back, relieved that his voice didn't reflect the uncertainty he was feeling. The older man walked over and wrenched the prints from his student's hand. "Who's that?" He asked, flicking his chin at the nearby Spaniard.

"Antonio, nice to meet you," the indicated boy smiled, abandoning the door to join the Italian's side.

"Sure, whatever," Sadiq replied absentmindedly, barely glancing at the boy as he removed the art from his grip.

Antonio knit his eyes in irritation, burning holes into the older man's back before letting his features slip back to peaceful neutrality when he turned back around. "You ready to help me?" Sadiq addressed Lovino.

"Uh yeah, of course," he nodded, glancing up uncertainly at Antonio. "Feli should be here soon if you want to wait outside, he can tell you what to do."

"Oh, that cute brother of yours coming, Vargas?" Sadiq called over his shoulder, lifting a notepad from the seat of a chair positioned in the center of the brick-walled room.

Lovino bit the inside of his cheek, grinding the soft flesh between his teeth till he tasted blood, "yeah, with his boyfriend."

"Aw, what a shame, he'd do so much better if he was single," his professor replied, not bothered by the biting stares aimed his way.

Antonio rested a palm on Lovino's shoulder and ducked to his ear, "I'm just going to stay in here," he whispered, soft breaths upsetting the Italian's hair and sending faint shivers down his back.

Lovino nodded in understanding, "thanks," he muttered back, barely moving his lips as he spoke. Antonio settled down in a couch near the back of the room and watched carefully from his seat as the Italian scrambled around, carefully following each of Sadiq's barked commands. He felt relief wash over him when Feliciano and Ludwig finally arrived, padding across waxed wooden floors to join him on the couch.

"How's everything going?" Feliciano asked when they reached the stressed Spaniard.

Antonio grimaced and laughed, "I'll tell you about it later," he explained, sliding a hand through his wavy tresses as he fought to assuage his boiling blood.

The younger Italian opened his mouth to question the vague response when a voice interrupted him. "Well look who it is, the school's newest little painting prodigy." Lovino turned from his tape measure to glare at Sadiq, catching eyes with Ludwig and quirking his eyebrows in warning. The German immediately took Feliciano's hand in his own and pulled the smaller boy protectively to his chest.

Sadiq appeared unimpressed by the display and folded his arms. "And who's this?" He asked, boredom already marring his voice.

"Ludwig," Feliciano chirped innocently, "he attends the school, don't you remember?"

The professor scrunched his eyes in thought, pressing a fist to his hip and staring imploringly to the sky in an exaggerated attempt to remember. "Ah yeah, sculpture, huh?" Ludwig gave a curt nod in response. "So you nabbed the whiz kid, huh? Good work, son," he laughed, slapping the German on the shoulder.

Ludwig shuddered slightly and flushed, "Feliciano," he turned his attention, coughing and clearing his throat before continuing, "let's get your brother's work up so we can get to dinner."

"Ve~okay," Feliciano agreed easily, distracted by the thoughts of an impending meal. "You want to help, big brother Toni?" The younger Italian asked, tilting his head curiously at the way Antonio's eyes followed the older professor around the room.

"S-sure," the Spaniard jumped from his seat, happy to have an excuse to expend the energy mounting in his limbs from aggravation.

Feliciano located the title cards for his brother's work and quickly explained the proper measurements for hanging pieces. Ludwig, being the most analytical of the group, handled the measuring, and with Antonio's patient hands and Feliciano's eye, the group managed to finish only shortly after Lovino and his professor had made their final adjustments.

Lovino walked hesitantly toward his work, heart jumping in his throat as he neared the brick wall. "I haven't seen these," Sadiq observed, following closely behind the Italian and slapping a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Are they new?"

Lovino jumped at the contact and nodded, "uh, y-yeah, I started them over the weekend." Anxiety buzzed distantly in the periphery of his thoughts, nervousness mounting with every second his professor carefully studied his work.

Sadiq released his shoulder and walked closer to the prints, peering expectantly towards them as he examined every minor detail. "Good job, Vargas," he said after a while, "you finally figured it out."

Lovino exhaled a breath he didn't realize he was holding and felt his shoulders wilt. "Thanks," he managed, knees weak with relief.

"I'll expect an artist statement on my desk tomorrow explaining them," he reminded, back still to the Italian. A dull chill descended upon the younger boy, and he felt the tension that had only just bid a momentary retreat resettle into the fuselage of his abused mind.

Antonio must have noticed his paling face, because he wrapped an arm around the Italian's back, shouldering the boy's stress and keeping him hoisted above the pit of despair he so often skirted. "He's worked so hard, can't he get that to you after the weekend?" The Spaniard reasoned.

Sadiq turned from the art and quirked an eyebrow curiously, "I'm sorry, I believe I was talking to my student."

Antonio straightened up to his full height, eyes uncharacteristically hard as he stared the older man down, "he's done everything you've asked, don't you think he deserves a break?"

Sadiq smirked at the Spaniard's display and let his eyes flit to the withering Italian. The boy had worked hard, he had to admit, his newest prints were excellent, far above most of the students his age, and though he was tough, he wasn't heartless. "Fine, you win," The professor acquiesced, stifling a laugh when the hardness immediately retreated Antonio's gentle features. "But I better see that statement Monday," he reminded, heading towards the door without bothering to say goodbye. "I mean it, Vargas," he yelled, throwing a hand over his head as he exited the gallery.

The group stood in silence as they each processed the scene. "He wasn't so bad," Antonio laughed sarcastically, yelping in surprise when Lovino threw his arms around his waist.

The Italian quickly pulled away, cheeks flaming, "that's for standing up for me." He explained before punching the Spaniard on the shoulder, "and that's for making me look like a wimp in front of my professor."

"Aw, but you looked so cute," Antonio teased, earning himself another punch to the shoulder.

"Ah," Ludwig interrupted, clearing his throat awkwardly, "should we get dinner?"

"Ve~yes, let's, I'm hungry," Feliciano agreed easily.

Antonio ruffled Lovino's hair lovingly and nodded, "there's a pizza place near her that's good, if everyone's cool with that."

The younger Italian cheered happily, "Lovi loves pizza," he added, making his brother blush from the attention.

"Well, it's settled then," Antonio smiled, leading the group to the parking lot. The restaurant was only a short drive away, and they were seated quickly, apparently beating the dinner rush. Lovino ran his rubber soles across the terracotta floor, allowing his brother and Antonio to fall into a comfortable conversation and only interrupting long enough to insult Ludwig every time he took a gulp of beer.

"I can't believe you like that cat piss," he grimaced for the fifth time that night.

"You should try it, Lovi, it's not bad," Feliciano piped up, giggling when his brother coughed into his wine glass.

"You've tried it?" The older brother demanded, mouth hanging open in disgust as he shot daggers at the German. "You, stop corrupting my brother!" He shouted, earning displeased faces from the surrounding patrons.

"Not everyone likes wine with their pizza," Antonio assuaged, patting the disgruntled Italian's thigh.

"You don't like beer, too, do you?" He demanded, eyebrows knit in surprised repulsion.

Antonio shrugged and sipped his wine, "it depends on the food, Lovi, beer's okay with some meals."

"Not you, too," Lovino wailed, throwing his hands over his face in an unintentionally dramatic display.

"No one's perfect," the Spaniard winked, making the table erupt into laughter that only ceased when their food arrived.

"Ve~this is so good," Feliciano mused, a chorus of agreeing hums echoing the sentiment.

Lovino felt his cheeks warm with pleasure as he chewed, allowing himself the chance to enjoy the moment, unburdened by the complicated feelings that interrupted his every interaction. When the dinner ended and the pairs stood in the parking lot, preparing to depart, he felt himself so full of contentment that it was almost uncomfortable. He told himself it was the wine, but he knew it wasn't, it was the feeling of companionship, of family.

"You're going with that potato bastard?" Lovino asked his brother, lip twitching in disapproval.

"Ve~is that okay?" Feliciano asked, hugging his brother and kissing his cheek before he could respond.

Lovino kissed his brother back and took a sharp breath, steeling his arms by his side as he walked up to the looming German. "Take care of him, you bastard, or I'll fucking kill you."

Ludwig's eyes sharpened in annoyance, but he nodded anyway and held a hand out to the younger boy, understanding this was close as he would get for permission to date the boy's brother. "I will," he said simply, grasping the Italian's hand tightly and giving it a firm shake.

"Good night," Feliciano cried happily as he and Ludwig climbed into the German's car.

Antonio and Lovino waved in reply, standing silently as they watched the vehicle retreat. "I'm so proud of you," Antonio said once the tail lights disappeared from view.

"Wha-" Lovino started, the words catching in his throat when he was enveloped by strong arms and the spicy scent of the Spaniard's skin.

Antonio pet his hair lovingly, enjoying the close contact, "I know that was hard for you," he whispered, his warm breath tracing the crown of the smaller boy's head.

Lovino only nodded when they separated and sniffed, pointing his eyes downward to hide the bright red in his cheeks. "Yeah, well, they were going to date whether I wanted it or not." He shrugged, grinding a toe into the rocky asphalt.

"I know you made Feli happy," Antonio continued, not bothered by the Italian's attempts to downplay his act. "It was a really selfless thing to do."

Lovino stuffed his pockets into his slacks, shivering against the solemnity that threatened to sneak back into his leaden limbs. He knew what selflessness was, he had witnessed it firsthand, and not even the blessed miasma of time had managed to mitigate the intensity of the gift. No, he wasn't selfless, he simply didn't see the point of pretending he was the sole possessor of something that had long ago escaped his grasp. There was nothing glorious about the way he lived his life.

"C'mon," Antonio prompted, recognizing the faraway look of distraught marring the Italian's handsome features. "It's late and you have a big day tomorrow."

Lovino nodded numbly in reply and followed the older boy to his car, willing his complicated emotions away so he could properly enjoy the last few moments with the Spaniard. "Are you nervous about the show?" Antonio asked as he downshifted into reverse and eased out of the parking lot.

The Italian folded his arms across his lap and shivered, "I don't know." Antonio threw him a meaningful glance as he shifted to drive and Lovino sunk into his seat and let his head fall back in resignation, "okay, maybe a little," he admitted.

Antonio smiled slightly at the confession, "you'll do fine," he encouraged. "Your work is great."

"Thanks," Lovino mumbled, glossed over eyes warily watching the golden illumination of the passing street lights.

"I mean it," the Spaniard continued sincerely.

"Yeah," Lovino grimaced, "I know, I guess I just-" he licked his chapped lips, working out his thoughts. "I don't know what to say to people if, you know, they ask-" The sentiment petered off, the words too uncomfortable to voice.

"That's a tough one," Antonio admitted, nodding as he thought. The Italian watched him expectantly, fighting back a grin when the older boy started to pinch his lower lip, a habit he seemed to unknowingly turn to when he was lost in thought. "Maybe instead of saying something specific, you can say it's about memories," the Spaniard started, "or loss or something." He stopped himself and laughed, running his hand through his unruly hair. "I'm not a good one to ask for advice on this stuff," he apologized, "it's not really my expertise."

"No," Lovino argued, pulling his arms closer to his chest, "no, that was really helpful."

"Ah, really?" Antonio asked, words curving up with happiness. "Good, I'm glad."

Lovino hummed a silent affirmation and let his head roll forward again, watching with regretful eyes as the silhouette of his dorm building loomed closer. "Shit, I'm tired," he yawned, balling his fingers into fists and raising them to the ceiling as he stretched.

"You better sleep in late tomorrow," Antonio reprimanded lightly, smiling affectionately when he let his vision slip momentarily to the younger boy.

"I will, I will," Lovino placated, unbuckling his seat belt when the Spaniard eased on his brake next to the curb. The Italian turned his head to the older boy, letting his eyes survey his tender features, before leaning toward him, nerves buzzing with longing.

"Wait," Antonio argued when Lovino's soft lips reached his own, warm breath only inches from his face.

"What?" The Italian demanded, frustrated.

"Am I allowed to go to the show tomorrow?"

Lovino blinked and fell back into his seat, eyebrows tensed at the unexpected question. He had forgotten his insistence that Antonio not intend, and he found himself pausing at the thought, trying to recall his reasons for not allowing him to come. He was surely trying to protect himself, but from what? Certainly not from pain, his life was consumed by it. And then he realized, the answer supplied as he stared into Antonio's earnest face: this was his last chance to save the older boy, to prove that he could be selfless like his mother had been. The Spaniard deserved someone so much better than him, someone that could contribute to his good humor, that could incite his happiness rather than whisk it away with every harsh word, every caustic memory.

Lovino steeled himself to answer, "I don't know," he gasped, before gulping against his discomfort and trying again, "no, no." He reiterated, clinging onto the bitter syllables, "you can't go." Antonio only blinked in reply, neutral reaction igniting bitter anger in the Italian's stomach. "Do you even care?" Lovino choked out, unable to stop himself, tongue loosened by the wine and his mounting frustration.

"Of course I do," the older boy replied calmly, voice hardened.

"Well you wouldn't know it looking at that same stupid face," Lovino bit back, desperately searching the Spaniard's features for some kind of reproach, some kind of sign that this was the right decision.

"Do you even like me?" Antonio asked finally, mercies dissipating from his timbre.

Lovino didn't respond, of course he did, he had never been so certain of anything. Every inch of him yearned for Antonio, he felt the sky above his head only remained so high because he existed in his world, that light was created only to reflect colors upon his face. Antonio was the most remarkable thing he had encountered, and probably ever would encounter, and yet when he smiled he did it so easily, as if it wasn't something precious, to be coveted.

He didn't say those things though, the good words never came to him in his time of need. "What do you care, you're only even talking to me because you wanted to be with my brother first. You're no different from anyone else, so stop acting like you're so Goddamn generous."

Antonio leaned forward and reached a hand out to cup the Italian's cheek. Lovino squirmed under the touch, scared of what was going to happen, terrified that he had worn through the Spaniard's last grace, that he had finally broken him. "Isn't it a little late for that?" Antonio asked, voice low and serious.

"For what?" Lovino demanded, fumbling for the door handle and wrenching it open.

"Trying to make me hate you," Antonio clarified.

An unintelligible noise worked it's way from Lovino's throat and he unfastened his seatbelt, stumbling into the blessedly cold night. He was drowning, he knew, the air was enfolding his body but it was too thick to inhale. "Fuck you," he managed, wishing Antonio would leave him alone, that he would let him go without a fight. "If I see you near that show I'll call the fucking police."

"Lovi-" Antonio started, watching the fragile Italian solemnly, unsure of how to react. "I'll be waiting for your apology," he decided finally.

"Oh, just fuck off," Lovino screeched, kicking the passenger door closed and turning his back to the retreating car. He bore a straight path forward, the desperation to be alone, away from the potential prying eyes of the dorm building, driving the mechanical motion of foot over foot. He wished he would trip, that he would stumble down a hidden ravine and transport himself into blissful unknowingness. He wished he had had more to drink at dinner. He wished that the dark smoke descending from distant fireplaces would carry him far away. He wished that he had never come to this school, that he had never met Antonio, that his parents had never died and left him trying to clumsily manage through life without their guidance. And when he was certain he was alone, back into the safe arms of isolation, he fell to his knees, letting the tears fall unbidden from his eyes, insisting upon the world these things, and hating himself for being so self-centered to think that anyone cared.


	28. Chapter 28

"Do we need to pick up Antonio?" Feliciano asked, peering at his brother as he walked hand in hand with Ludwig, heading towards the German's car.

"No," Lovino mumbled, digging his hands into his pockets, "he's not coming."

"Ve~but why?" The younger Italian pressed, concern in his face.

"Because I told him not to," his brother bit back, stiff shoulders indicating the end of the unwanted conversation. The last few hours had dragged by for Lovino, he found himself numbly passing through his responsibilities and ticking them off with no great emotion: sleep, wake, shower, dress,' who cares,' he wondered. What was the point of it all?

"Are you excited for your show?" Feliciano asked, buttoning his coat against a particularly strong wind.

Lovino didn't respond, he wasn't excited, but it seemed ungrateful to say so. He supposed the one positive side to this overwhelming deadness was that it left him bereft off all emotions. So while he wasn't particularly thrilled to be heading towards the four insurmountable walls of his holding cell, where he would be expected to smile, to be courteous and engage in easy communication, he wasn't nervous about it either.

He lowered himself into the back of Ludwig's car, immediately fastening his seat belt and leaning his head against the window, not caring that his freshly pressed shirt was becoming wrinkled. Dark autumn clouds congregated threateningly in the sky and made him think of Antonio, how it seemed to rain so often on their outings. Of course, there were few things that didn't conjure images of the zealous Spaniard: he stirred him into his tea in the morning, tucked him into the folds of his clothes, carved him in the surfaces of his prints. He wondered if Antonio was equally consumed, but he beat the question away, finding it too painful to stomach.

"You'll do great," Feliciano comforted when they neared the doors of the gallery and Lovino's knees threatened to give beneath him.

'I can't do this,' his mind supplied unhelpfully, and it felt truer than the cement beneath his feet. Stepping through that door was supposed to be so monumental, like finally thumbing through the last pages on self-loathing, on treading miserably in the events of his past, and arriving triumphantly on the other side of a new chapter, one that involved bravery and the will to improve himself, to stop holding people and emotions at bay. But there he stood, at the precipice of the change, and he was the same as ever, sick with self-hatred and alone.

"Let's just go," Lovino said finally, shoulders wilting under the weight of his defeat. What was the point of continuing this charade of being a normal art student that works hard and gets excited over exhibitions, that drinks too much and chats with unabashed fervor about his art and his life and his opinions on both? He wasn't that person, he would never be, and he didn't fit here, in this crowd of frivolous, happy people.

"Do you want me to call Toni and tell him to come?" Feliciano asked worriedly, soft hand cupping his brother's elbow in an attempt to comfort.

"No," Lovino replied too quickly with a tone louder than he had intended. "No, it's fine, I'll go," he clarified, steeling himself to enter, the thought of enduring the crowd in the gallery somehow less terrifying than being forced into Antonio's presence.

He inhaled noisily, smiling slightly when Feliciano hooked arms with him, holding him protectively to his side. "You'll do great," he chirped, planting an encouraging kiss to his brother's cheek before smiling lovingly to Ludwig. The German pushed the door open, thrusting the small group into raucous laughter, chatting and bright spotlights and outfits. People stood in tight circles, gesturing wildly, wine grasped protectively in their palms, while others loomed in front of the art, noses precariously close to the reflecting glass surfaces. "See? It's not so bad," Feliciano consoled.

Lovino laughed sarcastically in reply, pulling them towards the bar so he could get alcohol to dull his senses. "C'mon, let's look at the work," the younger Italian insisted once his brother had retrieved his wine. Lovino followed numbly, not really paying attention to anything, just ticking off the minutes in his head, willing the time to pass quickly so he could escape to his dorm and lock himself in its safe silence.

The older boy jumped when a heavy hand fell on his shoulder, "having a good time?" The gruff voice of his professor sounded.

Lovino looked up at the older man, fixing an expression of pleasure on his face. "Y-yeah," he managed lamely, "it's cool."

"Cool, huh?" Sadiq laughed, obnoxious barks blending easily in the overcrowded gallery. "Well, it seems like there's a buzz going on about you."

Lovino nodded unfeelingly before allowing the meaning behind the words to sink into his skull. He glanced up with knitted eyebrows, "what do you mean?" He asked, confusion in his features.

Sadiq smirked and dug an elbow into the Italian's exposed side, laughing when the boy crumpled from the touch. "What do you mean, 'what do I mean?'" He teased, "I mean you're a hit, people like your work Vargas."

Lovino blinked, eyes wide, "wh-what? Really?"

"Yeah really," Sadiq scoffed, chuckling at his student's reaction, "don't sound so shocked, I wouldn't have let you into the program if I didn't think you were any good."

"Yeah," the Italian nodded, licking his dry lips as his body worked to register the shock. "Thanks."

"No problem, Vargas," Sadiq smirked. "Listen, stay put, the gallery owner wants to talk to you, I'll bring him here, okay?"

Lovino opened his mouth to agree before slamming it shut again. "Talk to me about what?"

Sadiq shrugged, "oh, nothing big, just about the possibility of you having a solo show." He winked, waving a hand over his shoulder as he left to retrieve the man.

Lovino stood blinking, feet glued to the floor as he registered this new information. "Lovi, I'm so proud of you," Feliciano squealed, wrapping his arms around his brother's waist, reminding him of his presence. "I always told you you were talented!" It was true, too. Despite what others had said and regardless of his grandfather's or Roderich's opinion, his younger brother had always maintained that Lovino wasn't a failure, that there was something worthwhile in his art. The older boy nodded in recognition, unsure of how to respond to the stimuli engulfing him. "Luddy and I are going to go get some more wine, we'll be right back," Feliciano called into his ear, taking the German in his arms and leading him away before Lovino had a chance to argue.

Soon after his brother's departure, Sadiq came stumbling back, a tall, solemn looking man with ridiculously styled blonde hair looming at his side. "You Lovino?" The man asked expectantly, stretching a hand towards the Italian and assaulting his senses with the overbearing scent of marijuana.

"Uh, yeah," the Italian mumbled, taking the palm in his own and shaking it weakly.

"Your work's doing well, I already sold a piece," the man told him, a look of greedy happiness flashing through his eyes. "What would you think about the possibility of having a solo show, no rush, let's say near the beginning of summer."

"Sure," Lovino agreed before he could reconsider, shifting his weight from foot to foot as he tried to catch up with the events of the evening, "that sounds great."

"Cool," the man nodded, leaning into his heels, "give me a call some time next week and we'll set things up," he replied, pulling a business card out of his pocket and handing it to the younger boy.

"I will," Lovino said, glancing at the card before sliding it into his pocket for safe keeping.

"Great, well, enjoy the show," the blonde smirked, slapping Sadiq on the shoulder and leading him off to flirt with a crowd of nearby girls.

Lovino backed away to the wall and stared at the nearest window, taking in the gathering clouds and his despicable reflection. He should be pleased, the show was going well, better than he would've expected, but he felt nothing. The offerings for future exhibitions, for sales, they were great, but they didn't provide near the satisfaction that he experienced when Antonio told him that the work was good. These people were looking at art, at composition and color and all the technical aspects that made a piece successful, but when the Spaniard peered into the prints he saw Lovino, and that he appreciated what he found was so striking, so completely unfathomable to the self conscious Italian. Before he could register his movements, he was exiting the stifling warmth of the gallery and trudging into the cold autumn air, ignoring the soft raindrops that dotted his clothes as he paced down to the road, examining the street signs for an indication of his whereabouts.

He remembered the drive to the gallery, it had been in the same direction as Antonio's apartment so it couldn't be too far, he figured, and he trusted his highly attuned visual memory to guide him there. Before he could reconsider, he started down the street, fists bared at his sides, heart pounding with each hurried footstep. The rain picked up quickly, scenery flickering around him like aged film, the newly speeding rhythm of dotted moisture against asphalt igniting a fire in the Italian's soles until he was running in a violent trajectory, slinging his body forward, desperate to resolve the distance between himself and Antonio. "Toni," he gasped through dry lips, words flying from his throat like a signal flare. "Toni."

Lovino rounded a corner and caught his toe on a curb, immediately losing his footing and careening to the cement, skinning his hands in an attempt to break his fall. He sat in silence as he fought to slow his panting breaths, staring at his bloodied hands as if mirrors before turning his head to the shrouded sky and laughing at his actions, at the bitter perfection of the moment. There he was, alone on the sidewalk, crimson dripping from his palms, words of longing falling unabashed from his mouth, so haphazardly open, but no one was there to see it.

Finally, he gathered the energy to rise, whisking the salty sweat and rain from his face as he pondered the closest street sign. Blessedly, he recognized the name, knew it to be only a few streets over from Antonio's, so he willed his feet forward, ignoring the pain in his calves and lungs, visions of his destination urging him on. When the corners of the familiar building came into view, Lovino found himself breathing a sigh of relief, happy that it wasn't something he had conjured in a desperate plea for a lifeline to the world. Antonio existed, the Italian's name had passed through his mouth, betraying all the emotions that those carefully arranged sounds elicited. He closed the gap between himself and the apartment quickly, barely recognizing the soft asphalt cracking under his feet as he cut a quick course towards his destination. Time was suspended, separated by the harsh divide of life with Antonio and life without him.

Lovino willed his feet up to the door, his muscles were leaden with emotion, but he found himself wishing the distance had been greater, that he could keep running through the rain forever, willfully drowning in the current of Antonio's complexion. Knuckles met the hard wood, surprising the Italian with the noise, with the purchase his jellied bones were able to make. He leaned back into his heels and threw his head to the gray sky, so vast and cryptic, yet somehow less terrifying than the creeping sense of dread curling into his stomach as he waited for a conclusion he couldn't predict.

When Antonio finally did answer the door, after a minute, an hour, he had know way of knowing, he shuddered under the blooming in his chest, nurtured by the rain and the sunlight burning in the Spaniard's kind eyes. He stared hard at the older boy, demanding his body forward, to explain his presence, but his jaw ached and his legs were paralyzed, his biology temporarily muted by Antonio's presence.

"Lovi?" Antonio asked, eyebrows knit in confusion, or was it concern? "What are you doing here?"

Lovino opened his mouth to reply, but the words weren't there, his brain was frozen, whether from fear, passion, or anger, he didn't know. All he could apprehend was the blood throbbing in his ears and the remarkable way in which all the world's light seemed to congregate in this specific destination to illuminate the soft tresses that enveloped Antonio's face. He licked his inflamed lips and brushed his fingers through sweaty hair, "I-I don't know," he choked out, wincing immediately at the lie.

Antonio only sighed and grabbed the Italian's wrist, gently pulling him into the house and towards the bathroom. "Come on, you're a mess."

"Antonio-" Lovino tried to explain himself again, heavy breath catching in his chest as he watched the boy tread to the sink and start soaking a washcloth. The Spaniard didn't respond, instead he turned from the basin and swiped the cool cloth across the others forehead, gently cleansing his dripping cheeks and nose. Lovino found himself transported to those nights so many weeks ago when he had done the same, submitting himself to cruel isolation in a last ditch effort to be protected from the pain that longing could produce. He realized now how stupid it had been to think he could hide from-from what? He wasn't sure anymore, the fear was there, it was always there, but he doubted if he had ever successfully excavated its source. He had decided long ago that he simply wasn't equipped to handle life in the way that other people seemed able to, but drowned in the Spaniard's mercies he found himself able to let it go, to forget, and then the pain and the fear and the loneliness didn't seem so easily accessible.

"Toni," the Italian snapped, grabbing the older boy by the wrist and pulling the cloth from his grip.

"What did you do to your hands?" Antonio interrupted, attention turned to the abused skin on the heels of his palms.

Lovino peered confused into the others face before snapping his head down, unfurling his fingers, demanding that his body recognize the pain that must exist there. "Are you okay?" the Spaniard prompted, starting to become concerned over the younger boy's behavior.

Lovino wasn't sure if Antonio was referring to his hands or his emotions in general, and so he didn't respond, unsure of his answer. He wasn't good with words, he didn't possess the courage for them, that's why he preferred art and image, with its infinite possibility of reads and interpretations. If Lovino could make the Spaniard a print right now, he would do it, because how could he possibly tell him how much he loved him? How could he convey that meeting him carried with it the realization that life wasn't simply something to be trudged through in numb depression, and that sometimes, in the most secret parts of his mind, he imagined introducing his mother to Antonio: a thought that, far from making him sad, made him so unbelievably hopeful. So much so that he found himself constantly musing over how similar those emotions were: sadness and hopefulness. But if he were to choose the one he'd rather live with, it would be hope, because even if it was painful, it indicated an end that could be good, and it made him feel not so scared of everything. Even the part of him that remained on that blood-stained sidewalk was starting to back away, to allow that that unfathomable event had happened, and Antonio was there to hold the pieces together when his battered mind couldn't, just by being there, just by standing in the doorway and allowing him into his home.

But how could he ever fathom saying those things? How could he carve his mouth around those impossible words? So he settled on the next best thing. "I'm sorry," Lovino muttered, lips curling as moisture blurred his vision, "I'm really fucking sorry."

A trace of a smile pulsed through Antonio's face and then he was cupping the smaller boy's cheek, combing his fingers through his matted hair and nodding, "I know. I know, but thank you for saying it."

"It's just, I kept thinking, 'I'm not ready,' you know?" Lovino explained, fat tears tracing his cheeks, gulping against the messy words bubbling up through unmitigated emotions. "But maybe I'll never ready," he sniffed, palming the moisture from his cheeks, not bothered by the stinging in his hands. "Because I wasn't ready for her to die, but I lived through it, and I wasn't ready to move to Austria and I did that, too." He choked through a sob, shuddering against the knot in his throat, "So I'm not ready to believe that you love me, but you do, for some amazing reason that I can't get my head around, you do. And I'm not fucking close to being ready to believe that, but I'll try, okay? I'll try at least."

"Is that you accepting my offer?" Antonio prompted, eyes soft with compassion.

Lovino ducked his head and laughed, wiping his nose on his sleeve. "Yes, you bastard," he nodded, smile widening against the stiffness of his tear-stained cheeks. "I want to be your boyfriend," he clarified, nodding, "I really fucking want-"

The words were ceased by the presence of Antonio's burning lips against his own, wanting and grasping and searching for purchase. Lovino furled the others shirt between his white knuckles, pulling him closer, desperate to feel the heat beneath his clothes, the pounding heart beneath his skin. He willed the trembling from his aching fingers, short gasps falling from swollen lips as Antonio pressed kisses to his nose, his eyebrows, his ears, only pausing in his trajectory to nip at his sensitive earlobes.

"Are you sure?" Antonio asked, voice heavy with desire when he felt Lovino fumbling with the buttons of his shirt.

Lovino nodded, gulping against the heat in his stomach, palms pulsing with craving, with need. "Yes, yes, yes" he nodded, clinging to the word, intoxicated by the way it sprawled so perfectly across his tongue. He wanted this, he needed this, to feel so close to Antonio, to be enfolded by his presence.

The Spaniard nodded in understanding, brushing Lovino's trembling hands away to unfasten the last few buttons, only waiting to slide the shirt from tanned, supple skin before taking the Italian by the collar, pulling him into the adjoining bedroom and pressing desperate kisses to his mouth. He pulled off the younger boy's shirt, forcing his body to the bed. "Fuck," Lovino groaned through clenched teeth when Antonio's warm palm found his growing bulge, hips bucking under the pressure of his touch when trembling fingers fumbled clumsily with his slacks. "Useless," the Italian seethed, pushing himself up on his elbows and removing the pants himself, sliding them deliriously from his legs and kicking them off his feet. Antonio did the same, groaning with relief when the pressure was removed from his searing groin.

"I love you," Antonio gasped, pulling at the elastic around Lovino's waist and removing the boxers from his slender hips.

"Sh-shut up," the younger boy managed around a groan, toes curling in pleasure when the Spaniard's fingers grasped his swollen cock, warm grip sliding across his length in controlled, measured strokes. "F-_fuck_," Lovino cried, digging his nails into the silken sheets. "Toni," he managed, a shudder of pleasure coursing through his shoulders, "I won't last."

Antonio nodded numbly and released his grip, stumbling to his nightstand and retrieving a bottle of lube, before yanking his boxers from his hips and palming the gel, cold and wet. Lovino took the moment to prepare himself, wincing against the slight pain but quickly succumbing to pleasure. His joints ached with want, the desire to feel the Spaniard inside him swallowing his silence, overwhelming his tendency towards embarrassment. "Come on," the Italian pleaded, tilting his sweat-soaked hair into the mattress, shuddering against the burning pleasure swelling in his belly.

"You ready?" Antonio asked, voice husky.

Lovino only nodded, moans of rapture pushing through his clenching throat when rough hands squeezed his legs, fingers brushing agonizingly close to his sensitive inner thighs. Unintelligible sounds of pleasure flew unabated from Antonio's lips, he looked so serious, eyebrows knit in desire, eyelids screwed against the fire licking through his body in unending currents. If Lovino had had his wits about him, he might laugh at how stern he appeared, but instead he found himself being drawn forward, slick salty skin meeting skin, racing pulses matching, until Antonio was right there, drawing himself in, making the Italian's head light with perfect, unfathomable pleasure.

This was unlike anything he had ever experienced, he was far from a virgin, but never had he felt this way with someone. The electricity, the affection between them was so undeniable, so maddeningly palpable, that he wanted to stay there forever, silhouette impressed upon the bed, limbs tangled, racing pulse echoing in his ears. And when his revelry reached its mounting precipice, when limbs stiffened and stomach hardened with staggering tension, he melted into his pleasure with Antonio's name on his lips.

The Spaniard pulled away on shaking limbs, releasing his tight grip on the younger boy's hips and falling into the mattress next to him, brushing sweaty hair from his face and peppering soft kisses to his forehead. "I love you, I love you," he panted, never saying it enough.

"Shut up," Lovino insisted, allowing himself to be pulled close, to be warmed by the older boy's broad chest, halfheartedly beating back the overwhelming exhaustion looming expectantly in his slow movements.

"No," Antonio argued, lovingly tracing his nails across the others scalp, reveling in the subtle scent of his flesh, rich and sweet. "Do you want to know the truth, Lovi?" He asked as he caught his breath, as the strumming in his chest abated slightly, allowing coherent thoughts to reenter his head.

"I don't know," Lovino laughed, closing his eyes against the sweat-soaked sheets, dipping his unguarded body into the yielding mattress.

Antonio chuckled and rubbed a thumb against the Italian's eyebrow, willing him to open his eyes, to grant him visions of those illuminated golden irises. "It was always you," he said, voice barely above a whisper, timbre husky with affection, "it was you I wanted, I was using Feliciano as an excuse to get to _you_."

Lovino snapped his eyes open and stared confused at Antonio, hoisting his torso up on wobbling elbows as he decided if he should be angry, or if he should even believe it. "I-" he started, gulping against the caustic emotions blossoming in his chest. Brotherly instinct demanded he take offense for Feliciano's sake, but the anger wouldn't come. He was selfish, but he didn't care, he just wanted to know that it was true, that somehow the Spaniard had really known as long as he had, that such a true and happy emotion really could exist. "But why?"

Antonio lifted himself next to the Italian and took his chin in his hand, turning his head so he was facing him. "You know why," he said, tracing fingers lovingly across his sloping features. "You feel so intensely," he explained. "And the way you love people," Antonio turned his eyes to the ceiling and slumped into his shoulders, shaking his head in disbelief, "it's incredible."

"That's not true," Lovino tried to argue, disbelieving.

"It is, and it's beautiful," Antonio replied, "and I understand why it would scare you to allow people into your life, because it must be so painful for you."

Lovino felt his cheeks fill with heat, his eyes stinging with tears he couldn't produce. "I love you," he managed, lips tensing against the unbearable emotion, because it _was_ painful, it hurt all the time, but he knew he'd rather deal with it with Antonio at his side, rather than suffering in isolation, pretending he didn't feel the things he did.

"I know, and I'm so grateful for that," Antonio smiled, eyes glistening. He wrapped his arms around the Italian, pulling him close as he whispered soothing nothings into his neck.

"How did the show go?" Antonio asked after a while, body growing heavy with lethargy and bliss.

Lovino pulled his head away and shrugged. "It went well," he said, averting his eyes as his cheeks reddened, "I got offered a solo show."

"What?" Antonio demanded, eyes large and bright. "That's amazing, Lovi!"

"Yeah," the Italian muttered, letting a smile stretch across his face. "Of course, they may not want me back when they realize I left so early."

"Aw, I'm sure they will," the Spaniard argued. "You're too talented to deny."

"Shut up, bastard," Lovino returned, letting his forehead fall on the others shoulder, cheeks sore from grinning. "I should text Feli," the Italian mumbled around a yawn.

"To tell him you finally nailed that sexy Spanish guy?" Antonio teased, poking the boy in the side.

"Hardy har," Lovino replied sarcastically, fighting off another yawn. "I'll do it in the morning," he decided, letting his body fall back into the bed.

"Yeah," Antonio agreed, settling in next to him.

"First thing," the Italian mumbled, curling into the Spaniard, so warm and safe.

"Mm," the older boy mumbled, already falling into a deep sleep.

Lovino's eyelids drooped and he let his mind drift away, lulled to sleep by the consistent, comforting beating of Antonio's heart, so close to his ear. The pain was still there, the fear and anxiety and sadness had crawled into bed with him like they had every other night, but he knew they wouldn't beat him. When he woke in the morning, the weight of a new day looming threateningly before him, Antonio would be there: eyes understanding, smile gentle and inviting, and that thought gave him the strength to stop merely surviving, and instead to try his hand at living.

So he cuddled closer to the sleeping boy beside him and buried a smile into his chest, happy in the knowledge that their life together had only just begun.


	29. Epilogue

"Are we done yet?" Lovino moaned, dropping a box on the floor and leaning his back on the plaster wall, letting his legs sprawl before him as he slid to the floor.

"Yup, that's the last one," Antonio smiled, setting down his own box and stretching his arms over his head. "Now we just get to unpack," he winked, laughing when a string of curses escaped the smaller Italian's mouth. "Hey, the sooner we get this place set up, the sooner we can stop working our odd jobs," Antonio reminded, pulling a box cutter from his pants pocket and slicing it through the thick tape of the nearest package.

"Yeah, yeah," Lovino mumbled, tilting his head to the side to watch the Spaniard work before sighing and pulling himself to his feet. "How did I let you talk me into this, anyway?" He groaned, walking to where his bubble-wrap covered prints lay stacked against the wall.

"That's funny, I thought it was a joint decision," Antonio laughed, pulling a few framed photos from the box and smiling at them lovingly before placing them on the nearby counter.

"You have an unfair advantage," Lovino insisted, "that puppy dog face of yours, how the fuck am I supposed to say 'no' to that?"

"You're not getting soft are you, Lovi?" Antonio teased, walking up to the boy's back and wrapping his arms around his waist, sending warm breaths across his neck.

"Of course not, bastard," the Italian managed, blushing madly at the contact.

"Look, baby," Antonio whispered, voice heavy with delirious contentment. "This is all ours."

Lovino quirked his chin up and smiled despite himself. It was admittedly nice, it was everything he wanted. He had been so secretly excited when the Spaniard proposed the idea to him one night over dinner. Antonio had stumbled across the abandoned storefront on one of his many random excursions in search of new obscure produce stands, he told Lovino that it called to him, and the Italian could see why. The structure was perfect, the front door leading to two decently sized brick-walled sections, one side exiting into a slightly smaller plaster coated room. The pair had always dreamed of starting a joint restaurant and gallery, but they hadn't imagined that it would ever be possible, or especially that they'd find a building already so perfectly customized to their needs.

The best part though, Lovino thought, was the narrow staircase leading to a loft apartment nestled over the store. When he saw that, he knew he'd be willing to take out a loan, to be in debt forever, if it meant owning this place. He could just imagine it: decades down the line, him and Antonio wrinkled and old and still madly in love, living comfortably in their cozy apartment, filled with so many happy memories. It felt good to dream that way, he had only just started to do it, coaxed from his shell day by day just from basking in the glow of Antonio's warmth. He felt lucky, the realization had sneaked up on him, and shocked him when he put a name to it. 'Lucky,' who knew? Who knew that feeling would ever find its way back in his heart?

"Did you remember to call and get the electricity turned on?" Lovino asked finally, watching the dark shadows descending from the deepening orange sky.

"Of course," Antonio smiled, kissing the Italian's jawline before releasing his hold and returning to the bar. "I can finally try out my new equipment tonight!" He cheered happily, slicing the tape on the brightly colored packages littering the counter.

"You're not really going to make coffee at night, are you?" Lovino asked, quirking an eyebrow in disgust. It had shocked him initially when Antonio admitted to wanting to start a café, claiming that the size was perfect and that he liked the small and friendly crowds that such establishments provided. It had taken some coaxing to get the Italian to agree to it, he had made so much progress and was scared of what might happen if he was constantly surrounded by painful memories. But eventually he grew used to the idea, those negative reflections overpowered by the positive ones, a testament to how much he'd grown.

"Of course I am," Antonio replied, his beaming smile squashing the argument in Lovino's throat. "Have you heard from your dealer recently?"

The Italian shuffled over to the bar and leaned his elbows against it, "yeah," he nodded, fingering the picture resting on the surface, features softening at the four smiling faces: himself, Feliciano, Antonio and even Ludwig, his new little family. "I sold two more pieces."

"Ah, wonderful!" Antonio beamed, "I'm so proud of you."

"Oh shut up," Lovino chastised, ducking his head to hide a grin, "but it will help out with payments for this place." He sighed, letting his eyes wander around the dusty corners.

"We'll be okay," the Spaniard replied wistfully, "we have each other, after all."

"Ugh," Lovino groaned, playfully rolling his eyes, "stop being so sappy, bastard."

"Yeah," Antonio laughed, glancing from his work to stare at the Italian, illuminated by the early evening light.

Lovino squirmed under his stare, "wh-what is it?" He croaked, cheeks filling with heat.

Antonio only smiled and walked around the bar, cupping the Italian's cheek in his hand, "hey, Lovi?"

"What?" the younger boy demanded, heart pounding in his chest, "you're weirding me out, bastard, stop it." He gaped with wide eyes as the Spaniard sunk to the floor on one knee, digging in his pocket and pulling out a velvet black box. "Oh fuck, no. No," Lovino pleaded, tears pricking in his eyes, flames shooting through his body.

"Lovino," Antonio whispered, clearly enunciating every syllable, staring meaningfully into the Italian's glistening golden eyes. "I love you so much, I want to be with you forever."

"I-I want that, too," Lovino nodded, fat tears rolling down his cheeks. "I want it more than anything."

"Lovi," Antonio tried again, knot forming in his throat, eyes stinging with wetness, "will you marry-"

"Yes, yes, fucking yes," Lovino cried, crumpling to his knees and grasping his arms around the Spaniard's shoulders, back shuddering as he cried into his neck.

"I'm so happy," Antonio choked out around tears, pulling the Italian away so he could plant warm kisses to his inflamed lips. "I've never been so happy."

"Me too," Lovino agreed easily, furling his fingers around the Spaniard's soft hair, holding his face so close to Antonio's that their noses touched. And it was true, he was happy, and it was incredible, and it was paralyzing, and he was so grateful he had finally allowed himself to be open to it. "Me too."


End file.
